


Potato Gun Mark VI

by rainproof, teaberryblue



Series: Earth-1796 [12]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1796 Broadway, Canon-Typical Violence, Custody Issues, Domestic, Earth-1796, Fluff, Found Family, Giant Bugs, Humor, Kidfic, M/M, Original Male Dog - Freeform, Romance, anniversary fic, original child character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainproof/pseuds/rainproof, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaberryblue/pseuds/teaberryblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today is the one-year anniversary of the end of 1796 Broadway, and the two-year anniversary of the first chapter!  So we wanted to check in with where the Avengers are today! </p><p>Peter Parker's just turned eighteen and is legally old enough to join the Avengers, but he's having trouble adjusting to working on a team.  After Tony and Peter clash over Peter's decision-making in a battle, Tony arrives back at Avengers Tower to discover what is only the most recent in a long history of paternity claims...but this one turns out to be a more pleasant surprise than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potato Gun Mark VI

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [1796 Broadway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/972937) by [rainproof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainproof/pseuds/rainproof), [teaberryblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaberryblue/pseuds/teaberryblue). 



> One year after 1796 Broadway finished up, we're still so very grateful and humbled by the response to our first cowritten fic. So we wanted to celebrate, and thank all of you folks who made that experience so special to us! 
> 
> We love you guys! 
> 
> \--Rain & Tea

September 19th, 2015

Tony winced as a screech of tires and ensuing shriek of torn metal echoed up from 23rd -- jesus, it was like these people hadn’t learn to expect supervillain debris cluttering up their roads. “Tourists,” he muttered, during a cursory fly-over to inspect the damage. A fender bender by the looks of it, another claim against the Initiative -- but nothing requiring his attention.

“Hey,” said Sam WIlson’s voice, over the comm line. “I’ve got another nest of eggs located on top of Shake Shack, but I’m in no position to get to ‘em.” 

“Shake Shack?!” Peter shouted. “That’s a national treasure. Hold on, I’m--” 

“Hold _off_ ,” Steve ordered. “Jan said whatever goop is inside those things is caustic. I don’t want one of those things burning a hole in you, Spidey.” 

“Shall I?” Jarvis asked Tony calmly.

“J’s gonna handle it,” Tony announced. “Three suits, J. But watch out. That shit they spit is so corrosive, the armor won’t hold for long.”

The suit’s HUD showed an additional three suits blink to life at Avengers Tower, launching simultaneously under Jarvis’ graceful command. “Of course, sir,” Jarvis answered. If Tony didn’t know better he’d call that tone smug -- this guy was spending entirely too much time on the R&D levels with the Spiderbrat. “The numbers speak for themselves.”

“I’m _right here,_ ” Peter half-growled, half-groaned. “You’re gonna call in the cavalry on account of a bunch of unborn bugs?!”

The comlink lit up with the sound of rending metal and a familiar grunt. “Damn it,” Falcon hissed in Tony’s ear.

“Status,” Tony ordered automatically. 

“Waylaid -- oof -- temporarily. But I’m getting steadily rising heat signals off those eggs, J, you better get down here!”

“I’ve got this!” Peter insisted, just as another enormous beetle rounded the corner on 23rd Street. “You guys take care of the big bugs; I’ll just--” 

“ _Negative_ , Spidey; why don’t you-- _Fuck_!” Steve snapped. “Wasp, we’ve got to reroute traffic; you mind getting big?” 

Out of nowhere, tiny, four-inch Janet grew to massive proportions, stepping over the street to position herself at the intersection. “Got it, Cap!” 

High above. a series of silk-fine strands wrapped themselves around the tiny fairy lights that hung above the Shake Shack. 

“Ha, gotcha!” said Spider-Man, and he swung himself full-speed towards the angular shape of the food stand below.

“Hey, buddies,” Spidey said to the eggs. “This isn’t _Omelette Shack_!” He spooled a jet of webbing around them and slung the eggs off the roof of the building and into the nearby fountain, where the eggs steamed and let off a hissing sound.” 

“Well, that’s one way to _completely ignore orders_ ,” Steve said with a groan. 

Iron Man’s voice crackled across the coms, sharp with anger. “Goddamn it Spider-man, if you think for one fucking second you can get away with--”

“Ouch!” exclaimed Spider-Man, shaking slimy pink goo from his hand. “Wasp, you were right about the _caustic_ part!” 

“Sir, scanners are suggesting that Spider-man has sustained minor burns related his exposure to the corrosive juices--”

“That’s just fan-fucking-tastic,” Iron Man groaned. “You still got all your fingers and toes, kid?”

“Ten fingers, ten toes, and one iconic shack full of shakes all in one-- yeowch-- piece!” Peter exclaimed, flicking a fractured chunk of wet, slimy eggshell from his shoulder. “Annnnd we have a nest of _dead_ beetles. See?” 

“J, can you do one more perimeter sweep?” Tony ordered, veering sharply left and angling the suit for a landing on 23rd street, next to the carcass that Jan was nudging with one massive toe, a disgusted look on her face. “I’m not reading any more life signs, but just to be sure.”

“Of course, sir.”

Reverse thrusters engaged, Tony dropped the Iron Man suit as delicately as possible on the pavement before turning to glare, arms akimbo, at Spider-man and his tattered, acid-splashed suit. Without the crunch and screech of oversized beetles the whine of sirens and the distant honking and shouting of displaced pedestrians filtered through the air.

Tony flipped up the suit’s face mask to give Peter the full benefit of his Pissed expression.

Spider-Man, on the other hand, _had_ no expressions, as he was still incognito. But he was probably sticking his tongue out under the mask.

Just as Tony opened his mouth to speak, the first of the city’s damnable newshounds appeared, evidently summoned by the lull in the violence. “Mr. Stark!”

“Oh, Christ,” Tony groaned, snapping the facemask shut again. He was going to have the suit checked for trackers again -- it couldn’t be a coincidence that the paparazzi were locating him instantaneously after _every single_ local battle. It had to be some kind of superpower -- superpower or dark magic.

Peter whooped and posed for the first camera he saw. “Treasure that!” he told the photographer. “I don’t work with just anybody!” 

“Peter,” Steve said quietly, stepping up alongside the boy. “We need to talk about mission guidelines. I understand that you had a read on--” 

“The situation? Did he, Steve?” Tony snapped, the mechanized fingers of his suit clenching convulsively. 

Steve shut his eyes. “Tony,” he said, in a slightly pleading tone. 

“Yeah, I _did_ ,” Peter snapped. “I got all the eggs without having to wait; that’s kind of the point.” 

“Yes, but once we have a plan in place,” Steve said calmly. “We need everyone to stick to it. You could have gotten hurt, if the armors had come in faster than projected, or if...any number of variables hadn’t gone as planned.” 

Iron Man folded his arms over his chest. “This is a _combat situation_ , not a fucking easter egg hu--”

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!” The reporters stormed past the enormous, glittering beetle carapace now blocking only pedestrian traffic on 23rd.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes,” Tony groused, raising both hands. “Calm your--”

“ _\--selves down_ ,” Steve finished cheerfully as he strode over from the park, pushing his cowl back from his face, a long trail of slimy bug-spittle running down one cheek. “I’m sure we’ll get to everyone’s questions.”

He gave Tony a pointed look, clearing his throat. 

“Is it true that you’ve patented the only known cleaning solution for removing stray spider-webs off of city windows and monuments?”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“Hey, less pondering the market for supersized tubs of goo-gone, more appreciating my first team mission, my daring rescue of the greatest burger chain ever to grace Manhattan, and the seventeen beetles we knocked outta the sky!” Peter shouted down. He snapped a hand out and a web zipped down, snaring the microphone currently shoved in Tony’s face. “Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man will be here to provide answers as long as you’ve got questions!”

Steve put a hand to his forehead as a Daily Bugle reporter raised a pen in the air. “Spider-Man, would you personally consider yourself more of a threat, or a menace?” 

“Are we talking about my superheroing or my dance moves? The latter has _actually_ been referred to as mena--”

“Sir,” said Jan, flitting down to hover at the microphone’s height, “Spider-Man is a full-fledged member of the Avengers New York team, and the only thing threatening about him is the fact that he wears white tube socks with dress shoes.” 

“We’re working on it,” Tony promised the press as Steve slid an arm around his back, ready to steer him towards a waiting car. “We’re working on a _lot_ of things.”

“Sorry, folks,” Steve said, waving his free hand at their audience. “The Iron Man suit needs a little tune-up; you know where to find us.” 

“Mr. Stark! Wait!” called a young woman from the crowd. “Time for one more question?” 

“Fire away,” Tony called.

The reporter looked barely out of high school; she was still wearing braces on her teeth. “How do you respond to the most recent allegations of a paternity scandal?” 

“Of for fuck’s sake,” Tony growled, swatting the mic away. “No. Further. Questions.”

“But--”

Peter snatched the woman’s microphone up. “Just for the record, I am _not_ the father of those forty-thousand tiny spiders you found in your bathroom sink. It was some other guy. Have a nice day, and mind the giant beetles in the road!”

*****

The Initiative car dropped Steve and Tony in the private garage level of the tower. “It’s alarming how frequently our commute is interrupted by giant insectoids/alien crash landers/the supervillain du jour,” Tony complained, pulling his briefcase out of the backseat and frowning at the wrinkled sleeves of his suit, flicking stray rubble away with one crooked finger.

Steve reached for Tony’s lapels and tugged him forward for a kiss. “At least we didn’t take mass transit. Those things probably fucked up the subway schedule something _fierce_.” 

Tony leaned down, checking his appearance in one of the convex mirrors at the corners of the garage. He swept a hard through his hair, then frowned up at his reflection. “Pete’s giving me gray hairs, Steve.”

Steve sighed, and turned, and pressed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “I like your gray hairs,” he said affectionately. “Don’t worry about it, Tony. I’ll have a talk with him. It’s nothing none of us did...well...we were older than him, but when we were figuring all this out.” 

“That’s why I’m worried. The shit we got into isn’t shit an eighteen year old is equipped for. Especially an intelligent eighteen year old who’s used to being the smartest kid in the room,” Tony said, leaning into Steve’s touch. “Not that I’m, you know. Speaking from experience or anything.”

“What’s the matter?” Steve teased. “Is the graying king fearful the young upstart might take his throne for stupidest genius alive? I _know_ , Tony. But his heart’s in the right place. We’ll sort out the rest.” 

“The role of pithy yet hotheaded super genius has been filled quite thoroughly. Just saying.” Tony sighed, then glanced down at his watch. “Lunch? Well. Brunch?” 

Steve shrugged, rolling his shoulders back. “We may as well. I missed class. I hope I can turn in my assignment late. You think if I say a giant bug ate my homework…?” 

Tony laughed, tugging him back for a second. “If not, well. Technically speaking I _am_ a doctor. I could write you a note?” 

“Yes, Doctor,” said Steve. “The last time you mentioned this, Doctor, it came with the suggestion of a complete physical. Doctor.” 

“Jarvis, would you be an absolute dear and cancel my one o’clock?” Tony asked sweetly, arching a brow. “I need to pencil in a new _appointment_.”

Steve shot Tony a lopsided grin and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, walking him backward until Tony had his back to the hood of a 1967 Camaro. He kissed Tony again, catching his fingers in Tony’s necktie. 

“I wear my title well,” Tony said, allowing Steve to hem him in against the glossy metal with his legs. “I’ve got the terrible handwriting, the midlife crisis-mobile, the dashingly-handsome, scandalously-younger trophy husband …”

Steve paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Tony, I’m not _technically_ yo--” 

“I’m afraid there’s a little bit of a situation upstairs, Sir,” said the AI. “You may want to attend to that before making any, ah, amendments to your schedule.” 

“More serious than the situation currently developing in my pants?” Tony asked distractedly, hooking his fingers into Steve’s belt loops.

“I’m politely pretending that my optical sensors did not pick up that eyebrow waggle, sir. And yes, frankly speaking. Your security staff is, at present, being assaulted by a thirteen year old.”

“Right,” Steve said, swallowing as he straightened up and moved toward the elevator. 

Tony sighed dramatically, making grabby hands at the magnificent posterior now turned his way. “Whatever, a preteen fan’s not exactly armed and dangerous. Steeeeve -- !”

“Jarvis, does the thirteen-year-old in question present with any potential superpowers?” Steve asked, now several steps ahead of Tony. He turned and looked back at him as he punched the elevator button. “Tony, your security team hardly needs that sort of thing. We can take a few photos, I’ll sign a toy shield or something, the kid’ll be happy.” 

“But--”

The Starkphone in Tony’s back pocket began to buzz. He sighed, acquiescing to the inevitable interruption. “Stark here -- what’s happening, J-law?”

“We have another paternity claim,” Jen said. “Do you want me to send back the usual-- I’ve got signed affidavits covering your whereabouts for all of 2002; it shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“Is this the one from this morning?” Steve asked. “Find out what that woman was talking about this morning?” 

The elevator bell rang, and the doors slid open.

“This is my least favorite song and dance,” Tony groaned, flashing Steve an apologetic look. “The usual, yeah. Shut ‘em down.”

“Sir,” Jarvis observed. “This minor in question has announced that he’s looking for his father.”

“Fine,” Tony said, rubbing at his forehead. “Does his dad work here? Who is he?” 

“According to him, that would be you, sir,” said Jarvis.

“The chi--” Steve started, and he groaned, as he stepped onto the elevator, holding it open for Tony. “Do you want me to go see what’s going on with this kid?” he asked. 

He punched the button for the main lobby of the building.

“You don’t have to do that, Steve. Let security tell him his princess is in another castle, that’s their job. Jen? I gotta go, we’ve got company.” He tapped to disconnect the call and then sidled in after Steve. “I’d hate to miss a ride in my very favorite elevator.”

Steve snorted. “Now you’re just fishing,” he teased, leaning back against the mirrored elevator wall. “Remember our agreement? No elevator action during regular business hours.” 

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Tony groused, tucking his wandering hands into his own pockets for a change.

The elevator bell rang as they reached the lobby, and the doors slid open to the sound of shouting. 

Steve sighed. “Tony, we really should--” 

He was cut off as something hard and square and slightly wet whooshed through the elevator doors and smacked Tony in the face. Tony’s head snapped sharply sideways as he went sprawling in an ungainly heap against the elevator wall.

“Threat detected,” Jarvis intoned ominously via the elevator’s speaker. “Mark 57 en route.”

Tony slapped a hand against his temple with a groan. “Watch the glass, Jarvis! Watch the --”

The gilded front pane of the Stark Industries central lobby exploded inwards, a shower of crystalline shards tinkling against the marble floor in a delicate counterpoint to the receptionist’s terrified shriek. Mark 57 landed hard against the sleek black flooring and leveled an open palm at the projectile’s point of origin.

The boy standing in front of the armor narrowed his eyes at it, slung his potato gun over his shoulder, and spoke. “What did you tell me about coming off _grandiose_ someone hadn’t convinced me a Tesla coilgun was a good idea for a project at a public school,” said Harley, putting his free hand on his hip. “I almost got suspended. Anyway -- I’m here to see my _dad_ ,” he said, giving Tony a very meaningful look. His gaze meandered from Tony to Steve. 

“Are you Captain America?” he asked. “You real name’s Steve, right? Can I call you Uncle Steve? My sister has a huuuge crush on you; she’s gonna be really excited.” 

“Uh.” Steve looked to Tony, then back to the boy. “You can call me...Steve?” 

Tony narrowed his eyes at Harley. “What. Are you doing here.”

Between them the gawping security guard relaxed and stepped away, evidently convinced the root vegetable assault was effectively contained. 

“We need a place to stay,” Harley explained. “So I told those people you’re my dad. I figure you owe me one from the time I let you live in my garage and use all my stuff.” 

Tony’s mouth fell open and snapped shut two full times before he found his words. “You -- _you what?_ Where the fuck is your mom?”

“In jail,” Harley answered. “So it was either this, foster care, or going to live with my aunt who has something like thirty cats and doesn’t throw out her newspapers.” 

“Sir, perhaps you might invite this polite young man up to your office for this little heart to heart?” Jarvis suggested, just as a photographer’s flashbulb popped beyond the shattered front window.

Harley turned around and waved at the camera. “Oh, if we’re going upstairs, I have to get Brooklyn.” 

“Brooklyn’s a… borough,” said Steve, looking and sounding thoroughly confused. 

“Brooklyn’s the Elsa fan?” Tony asked, squinting at Harley suspiciously. 

“Frozen’s, like, super old,” said Harley. “It’s Minions now. She’s right outside; I left her at that ice cream place. The ice cream is expensive, though. It was like five dollars for one little cup and they made us speak Italian.” 

“She oughta meet a real minion or two, she’d be singing a different tune. Go get her,” Tony ordered. “And leave _that_ with me,” he added, holding a hand out for the potato gun. “Before you get yourself arrested for assault.”

“Whatever,” Harley said, rolling his eyes. “You’re not--” 

He looked back at the photographer and groaned. 

“ _Fine_ ,” he said, and handed over the gun. 

“Aww, thanks, my _darling boy_.” Tony held up the gun, aiming its sight at Jarvis’ armor. “Nice balance. Aluminum?”

“Yeah, but the base is carbon fiber,” Harley answered. He put up a finger. “If I leave you’re not going to disappear and not let me back in, are you?” 

Tony’s expression softened infinitesimally. He carefully reset the safety and then dropped the potato gun to one shoulder, patting its shaft fondly. “We’ll be your escort. Steve’s a sucker for the bacio, he might cry if I denied him.”

Steve’s eyes were on the mess of shattered glass at the front of the building. “We might as well buy enough to make up for scaring away the lunch rush,” he said, resigned. “Come on, let’s walk.” He wound his way past security toward the side entrance. “You know what else I’m a sucker for, Tony? _Introductions_?” 

“Intro-- ohhhhh yes,” Tony agreed. “Steve, this is Harley, my junior science bro. Harley, this is Steve, my... Captain America.” 

“Are you really boyfriends?” Harley asked. “I saw pictures of you kissing, but I wasn’t sure if that was just, like, a tabloid thing. Is Natalie here? Does she still work for you?” 

“Yes, not just, not today, no, but we’re neighbors,” Tony answered, hooking his arm into Steve’s as they made their way to the gelato shop. 

“Are you getting married?” Harley asked interestedly. “Now that people can do that now? I mean I guess in New York you could alread--” 

Behind them SI’s on-site debris removal team was already descending on the shattered plate glass. Tony cleared his throat. “Why’s your mom in jail?”

“Can I get an ice cream?” Harley asked. “I only had enough money for one before. Hey, Brooklyn!” he called, as he pushed open the door. 

A little blonde girl wearing pigtails, overalls, Crocs, and a generous amount of chocolate gelato smeared on her face, turned at the sound of Harley’s voice.

She immediately went stock-still, her eyes wide and her chocolatey mouth gaping. 

“Knock yourself out, kid. Get Steve a bacio, I want the tiramisu.” Tony shoved his wallet into Harley’s hands, then went over to the little girl and hunkered down. He studied her chocolate-coated hands with an expression of mild distaste. “Hey, Elsa.”

‘Elsa’ was staring at Steve. She wiped the ice cream off her face with the back of her hand. “Elsa’s not real, silly,” she said. “I’m Brooklyn.” 

Steve was staring back. “Uh. Hi,” he said, giving an awkward wave. Tony looked up at him, eyebrows peaking curiously.

“Hi,” said Brooklyn, biting her lip tremulously.

“I’m Steve,” said Steve, crouching down to the girl’s eye-level. “Um. Uncle Steve? Am I Uncle Steve?” he asked Tony. “Or just Steve?” 

Tony shrugged, waggling his arms in a silent yet effusive ‘how-the-fuck-should-I-know’ gesture.  
Brooklyn tugged shyly at the tattered pocket of her overalls. There were marker stains mixed in with the chocolate smudges down the front left side. “Harley said we were going to live in your big house,” she said, voice small.

“Thaaaaaat’s,” Tony started, looking like he’d swallowed something unpleasant.

“At least until we get something better sorted out for you,” said Steve, raising an eyebrow at Tony. 

“Harley said you’re really rich,” said Brooklyn. “Do you have ponies?” 

“We have a… Moose?” Tony tried, hopefully. “Well, a dog called Moose. Though he’s pretty Moose-sized. I bet you could ride him.”

“Really?” Brooklyn asked, interested.

Harley reappeared, carefully balancing three gelatos on his hands and forearms. Tony reached for his and smooshed the cool cup against his rapidly swelling face.

“We could get you some actual ice, you know,” Steve said, as he took his gelato in one hand and pushed himself back up to peer at Tony’s eye, sucking on his inner cheek. “Ouch. Looks like it hurts.” He brushed Tony’s hair back from his face to inspect it. 

“I took more hits today from the terrible teenagers than the giant beetles,” Tony complained, wincing slightly as Steve’s fingers brushed the swell of the bruise. “You people should carry warnings,” he told Harley, grumpily.

“We missed giant beetles?!” Harley groaned, reaching for his potato gun once again. He grasped at empty air as Tony neatly maneuvered it out of reach. “Man. This sucks.”

“I’m sure this won’t be the last of the giant beetles,” Steve said cheerfully. He leaned forward and kissed the corner of Tony’s eye. 

Brooklyn’s expression turned from eager to stormy. “Are you _kissing_?” 

“This is New York,” Harley informed her, wisely. “People kiss whoever they want up here.”

Brooklyn glared at Tony. “Not _Captain America_ ,” she said through gritted teeth. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to kiss anyone anyway; kissing is gross.” 

“You’re gross,” Tony muttered around a mouthful of tiramisu gelato.

“Tony--” Steve started, carefully.

Brooklyn narrowed her eyes at Tony. “Boys are gross,” she informed him. “And beards are gross. That makes you the _grossest_.” 

Harley stepped hard on his sister’s toes, before Tony could rally for another volley. “Big fancy houuuse,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“OW!” Brooklyn shrieked, and she jabbed Harley with her elbow. “Stoppit! _He started it_.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe I don’t want to live in his stupid house, huh?” 

“Well where else are we gonna go?!” Harley asked, exasperated. “I _told_ you--”

Tony straightened, grimacing. “No one’s living anywhere they don’t want to live,” he told the arguing pair, “but we’re not gonna stand around shouting over perfectly good gelato, either. This shit -- uh, _stuff_ \-- melts.” He looked helplessly over at Steve. “Why don’t we head back to the the tower and talk it over? Maybe … uh, Steve could show you his shield.”

Brooklyn let out a very loud, very irritated sigh and got to her feet. “I’ve seen it on TV,” she said dismissively as she threw out her paper gelato cup. “I want my mom.” 

Steve gave Tony a pained look, and scooped a bite of melting gelato into his mouth. “We can call your mom from the Tower?” he suggested. 

Harley looked away, frowning, and Tony shrugged. “Worth a try. If anyone can get a call into cell block B, it’s Jennifer Walters.”

*****

Brooklyn pressed her nose to the glass windows of the forty-second floor. “This is _so high_ ,” she exclaimed. “I can see like the whole city. What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a tall, silver spire.

“Chrysler Building,” Steve answered. 

“And that?” she asked. 

“That’s Oscorp,” said Steve. “And that’s the Time Warner Center, and over there is the Empire State building, and the Freedom Tower, and _there_ , if you squint, you can kind of see part of the Baxter Building, see?” 

“Look, we’re higher than the birds!” Brooklyn exclaimed, giddily.

Tony tucked his leg up against the picnic bench, watching Harley devour a carton of Chinese takeout. “You have any idea what a pain in my ass you are right now?”

“Sorry,” Harley said, slurping down lo mein. “Do you have any idea what a pain in my ass the bus to New York was? Brooklyn’s still mad she lost her stupid three foot stuffed alligator.” 

“I’ll buy her a real alligator, it’ll be fine,” Tony waved the concern away, scowling. “You told people you were my kid. That shit’s probably on the news in goddamn Hong Kong by now. You could have _called_ if you needed help -- why the hell do you think I gave you that Starkphone?”

Harley rolled his eyes. “My mom says,” he said, very innocently, “that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Anyway, you’ve paid more child support in the last two years than my actual dad did in, oh, _ever_ , so...it’s not a _complete_ lie?”

Tony groaned. “Nooooot the same thing, kiddo. Look. We’ll pay your mom’s bail, get my legal team on it -- Brookyn’ll be reunited with her mean green alligator in no time flat.”

Harley stuffed another bite of noodles in his mouth, and chewed on them thoughtfully. “Thaaaat’s…” he hesitated. “Not really gonna happen because Mom kind of blew up the house.” 

“Sh--what?” Tony gaped at Harley, then let his gaze slide over to Steve, who was happily pointing out the _borough_ of Brooklyn to the _person_ Brooklyn. Brooklyn seemed less interested in geography and more interested in mooning, starry-eyed, at Steve.

“Her meth lab exploded,” Harley said. 

Tony choked on his fortune cookie. “Your mother ran a meth lab? In your _house_?”

“How do you think I learned science in the first place?” Harley asked. “Don’t give me that look; she’s a single mom, it’s hard to pay the bills.” 

“You had a perfectly good garage,” Tony snapped, crunching the other half of his cookie between his thumb and forefinger. “Raising two kids on top of a ticking time bomb--”

“The garage doesn’t have a water hookup,” Harley pointed out, his own voice rising. “Or heat. _You_ know that; you slept there.” 

“Well -- then -- you should have _told_ me!” Tony spluttered, carefully bringing his volume back down. 

“So what?” Harley asked, setting the noodles down. “So you could do the judgey rich guy thing you’re doing now? So you could send my mom thirty thousand dollars and I’d have to watch her cry about it?” 

“I’m not -- christ, it doesn’t matter. It pisses me off that you’re in a shitty position that I could have prevented it if I’d been paying more attention.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, then let out a huff of frustrated laughter. “You sound like your Uncle Steve.”

Harley glanced at Steve, and then back to Tony. “Well, I don’t know how much you want to know,” he said. “For all I know you’d tell me that’s nice, kid, now shut up, oh, and where’s my sandwich? Whatever I said to _get _here, you’re not actually my dad and we don’t really talk that much.”__

__“Fair enough. For now, who do I need to inform you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere? The state must have found digs for you.”_ _

__“The aunt with the cats,” Harley said. “Aunt Cheryl.” He shuddered. “She lets them eat at the table. Off _people_ dishes. I’m not going back there.” _ _

__“Ew,” said Tony, pulling a face before leaning back with a sigh. “You know, while you are _more_ than welcome to crash with me until this gets sorted out, I’ve got absolutely no legal ground to hang on to you.”_ _

__Harley glanced sidelong at him. “Well, if you wanted to help out, it would be pretty easy to leak the bank transfer records to the press because those kind of look like hush-up money.”_ _

__Tony pursed his lips, tapping a finger against the tabletop. “Harley, that’s not the best way to do this.”_ _

__“You could marry my mom,” Harley offered. “They still let you get married in jail; I looked it up.”_ _

__“No one is getting married, jesus! Even if we were, that’s -- well, realistically that’s probably not going to fool anyone either,” Tony said, flushing. “Look. My legal department will contact your mother. I’m sure there’s some kind of -- of temporary custody or something we can file for. You’re a friend of the family, she’s incapable of providing care, cats have nasty feet. We’ll …. well, they’ll figure it out.”_ _

__Harley bit his lip, and nodded, tightly. “Thanks,” he said._ _

__“No big,” Tony reached across the table to squeeze Harley’s shoulder. “Batman adopted like, a thousand tiny kids. We’ll get you some scaly manties, it’ll be great.”_ _

__Harley snorted. “I want a tac suit.”_ _

__Sliding his phone out of his back pocket, Tony spared Harley a grin. “Put it on your Christmas list, Jason.”_ _

__“With, like, infrared goggles and a gas mask.”_ _

__“You’re building the goggles,” Tony countered as he dialled Jen._ _

__“Cooooool.”_ _

________________ _

__“So, R &D,” Natasha said, as the doors to Tony’s office slid shut behind her. “What, exactly, is this situation that could use my exper--” _ _

__She stopped as she surveyed the surroundings: the scattered Legos on the usually-pristine carpeting, the small pair of high top sneakers and the smaller pair of Crocs by the door, and the two small people that matched them._ _

__She raised an eyebrow at Tony._ _

__“Natalie, this is Harley and his sister Brooklyn. I believe you’ve--”_ _

__“ _You’re_ Natalie?!”_ _

__Natasha laughed, and smiled at the boy. “And you’re Harley,” she observed. “How’s the potato gun?”_ _

__Steve put down his Lego quinjet and pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his pants. “It worked pretty well on Tony’s face.”_ _

__“Fuck you,” Tony muttered halfheartedly, picking up the ice pack he’d tossed to the desk._ _

__Natasha puckered her lips, trying not to smile. “I see,” she said. “That’s some shiner, Stark; didn’t they ever tell you not to look down the barrel of a gun?”_ _

__“It was a warning shot,” Brooklyn informed them, adding a fifth set of wheels to her lego racecar._ _

__“I see,” said Natasha. “So, what did you call me here for?” she asked nicely. “Revenge?”_ _

__“I was actually hoping you could do me a little favor. Discretely,” Tony added, making a face. “Harley and Brooklyn are our guests for a time, but they’re lacking in the essentials. Toiletries. _Especially_ toothbrushes and toothpaste. Clean undies. Fresh clothes. That kind of thing.” _ _

__Natasha pursed her lips, then licked them. “And out of all the people you know, I’m _obviously_ the one who comes to mind when you ask yourself ‘who knows the most about children’s clothing?” she asked, though she looked more amused than anything. _ _

__“I like sparkly toothpaste,” Brooklyn chimed in helpfully. “Not spearmint; spearmint is gross.”_ _

__“We’ll buy the sparkliest toothpaste in Manhattan,” Tony promised before turning back to Nat. “Harley told the press I’m his father, which means -- naturally -- that I can’t afford to be seen with them in public. They shouldn’t be out there without a bodyguard, and the paps would eat my PA alive, so.”_ _

__Natasha grinned. “All right, kids,” she said, cheerfully. “We’re going undercover.” She looked them over, thoughtfully. “And we’re getting haircuts.”_ _

__“Can I get a perm?” asked Brooklyn._ _

__“No, you’re getting a trim. A lot of people are going to be trying to take your photos; you need to look good.” Natasha looked back at Tony. “Are you sure you don’t want to parlay this into a reality show deal?” she teased._ _

__Tony grinned. “Who do you take me for, Tiberius Stone?”_ _

__Steve coughed._ _

__“Never,” Natasha said brightly, and she clapped her hands together. “”For one, you _stopped_ hitting on me when you found out I was a spy. Come on, kids. Chop-chop.” _ _

__Both children straightened up and started for the door, carefully navigating the landmines of scattered legos before slipping on their shoes._ _

__Natasha cleared her throat, then pointed to the corner. “Potato guns stay here.” she instructed._ _

__Harley groaned. “But--”_ _

__“No buts.” Natasha patted her jacket. “If you behave yourself, I’ll teach you how to shoot a real one.”_ _

__“Awww, yeah!!”_ _

__Natasha shepherded the children out of the office with promises that they could get new pajamas, and no, Brooklyn could not get high heels, but yes, she could go on the carousel if she was good, and tossed Tony a rather pointed look that said, ‘you owe me,’ over her shoulder before the doors shut behind her._ _

__“Well, that’s gonna end well,” Tony muttered giving his black eye a ginger poke._ _

__“Bye, kids!” Steve called, raising a hand to wave at them, and then returned to the floor, carefully picking up all the Legos without breaking apart Brooklyn’s car._ _

__“So,” he said, casually._ _

__“So,” Tony agreed, dropping his head into his hands. “I officially prefer giant arthropods to children of any age, shape or form.”_ _

__Steve sucked in a breath, stood up, and walked over to Tony, stroking Tony’s head with his fingertips. “They’re not so bad,” he said. “At least you’re _certain_ they’re not yours to begin with,” he pointed out. _ _

__“Ever the optimist,” Tony muttered, mashing his face into Steve’s shoulder. “I knew I shouldn’t have fed them, now I’m getting all attached.”_ _

__“Just don’t let them up on the couch, alright?” Steve asked. He smiled, then wrapped his arms around Tony. “You’re doing fine. Apart from getting into a fight with an eight-year-old about which of you is grossest.”_ _

__“An argument that I _totally_ won,” Tony said with a disdainful sniff, settling his cheek against Steve’s and leaning into the hug. “This. This has been a long day.”_ _

__Steve ducked his head, kissing Tony’s hair. “I can see a few more gray streaks from up here,” he teased. “Is there anything I can do? Do you _know_ what you want to do?” _ _

__“I can’t keep them, even if it were what I wanted to do,” Tony muttered, pushing himself away and running a hand through his hair. “And now my highly pristine, highly moral reputation has been besmirched by _more_ paternity claims.”_ _

__“Is this why you’re dating me?” Steve asked. “Because you know I can’t file a paternity suit?”_ _

__Tony cracked a small smile. “You know I’m into you and any kind of suit, Steve. You don’t need to deal with this. I’ll go chat with Jen, see what she advises on damage control...”_ _

__“I don’t think there’s much _damage_ ,” Steve said. “It’s easy enough to tell anyone who cares that it’s just fantasy on the part of a kid who admires you a great deal. Everybody’s done that.” _ _

__“Fantasized about me?” Tony asked, quirking a brow._ _

__“Well, you _were_ just named Sexiest Man Alive for the third time,” Steve pointed out. _ _

__“I’m not sure a tie counts, though the afterparty sure was fun.” Tony smoothed Steve’s shirt, tugging at one sleeve. “I want to fix this for him,” he said after a moment’s hesitation._ _

__Steve smiled. “You always want to fix everything for everyone,” he pointed out. “I don’t think you can _fix_ this one, but you can be there for him.” _ _

__“I have no business attempting to raise a kid, even one I had legal control over. I barely qualify as a role model,” Tony raised a hand to pinch the ridge of his nose, then winced at the tender swelling._ _

__“Shit!” came an exclamation from the doorway, followed by a bashful, “Uh. I mean. Sorry. You didn’t-- I didn’t think you could get a black eye with your _helmet_ on…” _ _

__Peter was wincing in sympathy, biting on the tips of his fingers._ _

__Tony stepped away from Steve, schooling his face into a far more professional expression. “Did you need something, Peter?”_ _

__“Uhhhhh…” Peter looked at the ceiling, his cheeks going pink. “I came by, to, uh, you know, check on things, and also...because…”_ _

__He was gesticulating nervously, hopping from foot to foot. “I wanted to...the thing...where I apologize, so…”_ _

__He was looking very pointedly at the wall._ _

__“Sorry?”_ _

__Tony folded his arms over his chest._ _

__Steve cleared his throat._ _

__“When you signed the contract you agreed to abide by the strict chain of command stated therein,” Tony said, sharply. “While I appreciate the thought behind the apology, it doesn’t do any good if you turn around and ignore orders the next time we answer a call. You could have -- you could have been hurt, or worse. It’s not a fucking game.”_ _

__Peter’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “Right, because you always follow Cap’s orders to the letter?” he asked. “I’m not apologizing for making that call, because it was _right_. I’m apologizing for being a dickhead about it.” _ _

__He glowered. “Or I was going to.”_ _

__“Steve and I are both adults, with a hell of a lot more experience doing this than you,” Tony gritted out. “Are you entirely sure you know how apologizing is supposed to work?”_ _

__“I was doing this for three years on my own!” Peter snapped. “ _Without_ any support and half the city out to crucify me! I’m apologizing for what I did _wrong_ , not what I did right.” _ _

__Steve was standing with his head in one hand, just behind Tony._ _

__Tony flung one hand out. “You -- you’re not stupid, Peter. It’s not the same with seven team members in play, the point of having a tactical commander is that _someone_ knows where all the pieces are!”_ _

__“But I could act _faster_ ,” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your suits would have taken minutes; I dealt with it in seconds. I get it was risky, but _I_ was the one taking the risk, not anybody else.” _ _

__“There was no need for anyone to be taking that kind of risk! They were fucking _bugs_!”_ _

__“And those eggs were about to hatch on top of Shake Shack!” Peter exclaimed, his face by now bright red. “The entire city was saved from a burgerless lunch hour; you’re welcome.”_ _

__“Well,” Steve said reasonably. “I wouldn’t go that far, considering Shake Shack wound up covered in guts. But it _is_ still standing.” _ _

__Tony turned away, staring Peter down as he held out two hands, mimicking the platforms of a scale. “Shitty greasetrap, your life. Shitty greasetrap, your life. Hmmm, where should our priorities fall…”_ _

__“Shake Shack isn’t a shitty greasetrap!” Peter objected, with all the horror of a native New Yorker. “Fucking West Coasters. And there were employees inside.”_ _

__Tony rolled his eyes. “I -- look. I appreciate the attempt to apologize. You’re benched pending supplemental training modules on field leadership and--”_ _

__“You’re not my _mom_ ,” Peter said irritably, and he looked to Steve, wide-eyed and pleading._ _

__Steve sighed. “No, but he’s a senior member of the team and I’m not going to countermand him,” he said, looking suddenly very tired. “If you want me to consider reinstating you sooner...how are you at babysitting?”_ _

__“Baby...what?” asked Peter, blinking, as if that was very much not what he had expected Steve to suggest. “Who has a baby?”_ _

__“It’s a long story,” Tony grumbled. “Fifty bucks an hour.”_ _

__Peter looked around as if he were trying to seek out the hidden camera. “Uh. Throw in a pizza and a two-liter bottle of root beer?”_ _

__“Do you think they like pizza?” Tony asked Steve. “All kids like pizza, right? They would have said something if there had like, peanut and cheese allergies, right?”_ _

__“I’m sure they like pizza,” Steve replied. “They already ate all that Chinese food, so you know they’re not gluten intolerant.”_ _

__Peter held his hands out, shaking his head. “ _Whose kids are these_?” _ _

__Tony pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, peeled off three hundred dollar bills, and dropped them into Peter’s outstretched palm. “The more important point is whose they _aren’t_.”_ _

__Peter squinted. “Are you paying me off not to tell anyone about your secret love children?” he asked. “Because you know my boss would pay, like, four figures for those photos.”_ _

__“Send them some Spidey-nudes if you’re into figures,” Tony muttered, rolling his eyes. “The boy’s named Harley. He helped me out of a jam a few years back. They’re on the lam and need a place to crash for a few nights.”_ _

__“Oh, like I’m supposed to compete with the Sexiest Man Alive,” Peter retorted. “So they’re...not your love children?” He sighed. “I’m kinda disappointed. I thought for a second I had siblings.”_ _

__“News flash -- also not my love child. Now get the fuck out of my office,” Tony groaned, reaching for his ice pack. “Mansion. Five o’clock. Bring pizza.”_ _

__Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, _Dad_ ,” he said, waving his hands as he left. He grinned at Steve “Later, Mom.” _ _

__“I hate everything,” Tony informed Steve, solemnly._ _

__“If we keep acquiring children, I’m going to have trouble keeping their names straight,” Steve answered. “I always thought I’d _know about it_ when I became a parent.” _ _

__“Har de har har,” Tony groused, facepalming into his icepack._ _

________________ _

__

__“Shh!” Harley scolded his sister as the car pulled up the enormous driveway to the Stark mansion. “You aren’t allowed to say that here.”_ _

__“I don’t care!” Brooklyn replied. “Hawkeye’s still my favorite. If Captain America is kissing _other boys_.” _ _

__“Got it,” Jan chirped happily, tapping her phone. “I’ll send it to Clint -- bet you dollars to donuts he sets it as his ringtone.”_ _

__Harley groaned. “Ugh, the car is totally bugged, you can’t just --”_ _

__“Well, if Iron Man wanted to be my favorite, he’d paint his suit purple,” Brooklyn informed her brother. “And dump Captain America so I could marry him.”_ _

__“”Psh,” Jan laughed, tapping out a text. “He has no business wearing cool colors, he’s _such_ a summer.”_ _

__“ _I’m_ a spring,” Brooklyn informed her brother, haughtily. _ _

__“You’re a _nnoying_ , is what you are,” Harley retorted. _ _

__“Cool it, kids,” Natasha said, evenly, as she parked the car and unlocked the doors. “We’re here. Remember your bags.”_ _

__“Wooooow,” Brooklyn said, as she opened the door and stepped out onto the wide drive, spinning in a circle with her hands in the air to take in the view of the expansive estate. “Wow, wow, wow.”_ _

__“Is this a house?” Harley asked, squinting up at the mansion’s facade. “It looks like a fancy hotel.”_ _

__“The mansion’s been in the Stark family for three generations,” Jan informed them, brightly. “You wouldn’t be _lieve_ the stuff we got up to out here when we were in school.”_ _

__“You knew Tony when he was a kid?” Harley asked, trailing after Jan and Nat. The smartlights outside lit up as they passed and dimmed behind them, escorting them towards the entrance. Nat pressed her palm to a panel beside the front door and the entryway lights scaled up to full brightness._ _

__“Good evening, Ms. Van Dyne, Ms. Banner-Romanoff, and Company. Welcome to Stark Manor.”_ _

__“Jarvis, I have two new entries for the security system,” Natasha said. “C’mon, kiddos, put your palms flat on this plate here, and say your name clearly and Jarvis will register you into the house database so you can come and go as you like.”_ _

__“What if we--” Harley started. He put his hand up against the panel and said “Harley Keener.” “What if we, like, what if we have an identical twin somewhere we don’t know about and they want to break into the house and then--”_ _

__“Identical twins don’t have the same handprints,” Natasha answered as Brooklyn did hers._ _

__Natasha opened the door to the smell of fresh pizza and a happily barking dog who bounded up to the entryway, tail wagging._ _

__“Oh my gosh he IS a moose,” Brooklyn exclaimed. “Hello Moosey-moosey!”_ _

__Moose gave Brooklyn’s face an enthusiastic lick, then shoved his nose into Harley’s hand and snuffled approvingly._ _

__“Master Parker,” Jarvis called, through half a dozen hidden speakers. “Your wards have arrived.”_ _

__“Come on in!” Peter shouted over the sound of Super Dog Cops Racing Two. “Before the pizza gets cold!”_ _

__“Pizza?!” Brooklyn squeaked gleefully. “I hope you got one that’s just cheese-- Miss Jan, can I put on my new pajamas to eat pizza in??”_ _

__“What else are quality pajamas for? Nat, which rooms are we assigning the kiddos?”_ _

__“I’d put them in the guest rooms closest to the boys,” Nat suggested mildly._ _

__“Right,” Jan agreed, and heaved up the giant shopping bags. “Up the stairs. Do you want the yellow room or the blue room?”_ _

__“Blue, please!” Brooklyn answered._ _

__“Good choice,” Jan said, looking terribly amused as she started up the stairs. Moose apparently decided he was very interested in this new small person, and followed up behind them, tail thumping against the banister._ _

__“You must be Harley,” Peter said, putting his game on pause to give Harley a fistbump. “Yo. I’m Peter. Mom and Dad are at some press conference, so I’m watching you.”_ _

__“Mom and Dad?” Harley asked, frowning._ _

__“You know,” Peter rolled one hand. “The not-so-ambiguously g-- dynamic duo? Tony. And Steve. Or Steve and Tony, I go back and forth on who gets to be Mom.”_ _

__“Steve,” Natasha offered, setting a stack of plates on the countertop. “Definitely Steve.”_ _

__“He’s definitely over-invested in whether I finish my homework,” Peter agreed, stuffing his mouth with pizza. “He’s worse than Aunt May about it.”_ _

__Harley tipped his head to one side. “So...are they your _parents_? Are you adopted?” _ _

__Peter snorted and shook his head. “No, no, no, thank god, no. But I live with my aunt and I think they both are under the impression that I need more parenting.” He rolled his eyes and looked back at Natasha. “Tony’s being a pain in the a-- er--” Peter glanced at Harley. “Neck about this morning.”_ _

__Natasha raised a brow, ignoring Harley as he began stacking the pizza slices on his plate two-deep. Moose, on the other hand, watched with great interest as the pile grew precarious. “Oh?”_ _

__“You can say ‘ass’ in front of me; I’m thirteen,” Harley said, a stringy stretch of mozzarella hanging from the corner of his mouth. His eyes tracked from Peter to Nat, then back to Peter. “What happened this morning? Was it with the bugs?”_ _

__“I, uh.” Peter’s eyes went wide and zipped over to Natasha. “Kind of. I … skipped class again, because -- well, giant bugs were rampaging through Manhattan, it kind of cramps my commuting style.”_ _

__“Why is that Tony’s business?” Harley asked. He looked a little worried._ _

__“I’m an … intern. I have this internship at Stark Industries.”_ _

__Harley bit into his pizza. “Wow,” he said. “This is...this is way better than the pizza at home. Hey, how old do you have to be to get an internship? I bet I could do an internship. What do you do?” he asked Peter, eagerly. “Is it like, science stuff or do you just file papers or clean bathrooms or something?”_ _

__“Welll,” Peter said, hedging. “I was brought on my senior year of high school through a school placement program, had to have my aunt’s consent and all. They don’t really let me handle any hard materials so I did lots of simulation and programming. Someday I’m gonna coerce Tony into letting me into the R &D levels alone...”_ _

__“Harley’s a bit of a prodigy in his own right,” Natasha said, stacking several slices of pizza on a plate and then wiping tomato sauce from the corner of her mouth with her thumb._ _

__“I singlehandedly fixed the Iron Man suit and rescued Tony from a burning army,” Harley said nonchalantly. “It was pretty cool.” He licked pizza sauce off his fingers just as Brooklyn came running down the stairs._ _

__“Save some for me!” she shouted, as she climbed over the back of the sofa and squirmed into the place between the two boys. Moose climbed up onto the sofa and arranged himself inconveniently in all of their laps, apparently thinking he was somewhat smaller than he actually was, or possibly used to much larger laps._ _

__“That … does sound pretty cool, actually. Tony never lets me touch the suit,” Peter said, scowling down at his pizza as he wriggled out from under the dog._ _

__“He never lets anyone touch the suit,” Natasha assured Peter. “It was an extenuating circumstance.”_ _

__“You just need to concoct a scenario where he has to rescue you dramatically,” Jan offered, as she flitted down the stairs. “He likes catching people too much for his own good.”_ _

__Harley’s brows crept upwards. “I do have a propulsion-powered skateboard I’ve been -- “_ _

__“Mom said you weren’t allowed to test that again after you broke your arm,” Brooklyn reminded him, cooly._ _

__“ _Mom_ blew our house up with her stupid meth lab!” Harley rolled his eyes. _ _

__Peter’s eyes went very round._ _

__Jan cleared her throat. “Well, the skateboard sounds right up Tony’s alley,” she said nicely. “Did he ever tell you about the rollerskates?”_ _

__Natasha rolled her eyes. “Not the rollerskates,” she said plaintively._ _

__“What about rollerskates?” asked Brooklyn. “I have rollerskates.” She frowned. “Had.”_ _

__“Rocket-powered rollerskates, improperly configured miniaturized propulsion engine, blew out the wall of the basement lab, blah blah blah,” Peter mimed a flapping mouth with one hand. “Jan, tell the one about the biomechanically enhanced poison ivy, _that_ is a hell of a story!”_ _

__“Um um um um ummmm,” Brooklyn hummed, holding out a hand. “Quarter in the swear jar!”_ _

__“Your mother ran a meth lab but fined you for swear words?” Peter asked, bewildered._ _

__“The meth was only to pay the bills, jeez,” Harley said, rolling his eyes. “Why does everyone act like it’s a moral shortcoming? I don’t have a quarter,” he said to his sister. “Anyway, Tony’s house, Tony’s rules, and I’m pretty sure the way he drops f-bombs that there’s no swear jar.”_ _

__“We tried to institute a swear jar once,” Jan mused. “The problem was actually Steve.”_ _

__“Captain America’s got a potty mouth?” Harley laughed. “Guess that means he’s not as uptight as the magazines seem to think he is…”_ _

__Natasha burst out laughing. “Oh, he’s plenty uptight. Just not in the way they make him out to be.”_ _

__“Steve has _principles_ ,” Peter explained. “As long as you don’t break ‘em, you’re free and clear, but oh, if you _dare_ , dare mess with the _principles_ , you’re good as dead.” _ _

__“No wonder he and Tony get along,” Harley mused. “So, Nat, what were the bugs like? They looked huge on the TV!”_ _

__“They _were_ huge,” Natasha answered. “And splattered all over my first choice of lunch venues, which is why we ended up eating mac and cheese skillets.”_ _

__“Oooh, you went to ‘Smac without me?” Peter asked, disappointedly. “Traitor.”_ _

__“Thank you, bugs,” Harley intoned, clapping his hands together in false prayer._ _

__Nat smirked at him. “One of the heads was about the size of a small car.”_ _

__“And they had really smelly guts,” Jan added, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Aw, look,” she said, hovering over Brooklyn, who was snoring into the dog. “The kidling fell asleep.” She carefully extracted the half-eaten pizza from Brooklyn’s hand._ _

__Moose snuffled after the crust, and Jan sighed and handed it over. “Shh,” she said to the dog, “What Tony doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”_ _

__“She’s been awake for like, two days,” Harley shrugged, unsurprised. He groped around on the back of the couch for a throw. “So they were organic? Chitin and cartilage? They can’t have been all that heavy, the way Spiderman was flinging them around.”_ _

__“Hey, Spidey can lift some _intense_ weight,” Peter argued. “Don’t let that sleek physique fool you.” _ _

__Natasha cleared her throat._ _

__“He’s more of an acrobat than a buff kind of super-dude,” Harley observed, wrinkling his nose. “Kind of like Robin, only without the sparkly panties.”_ _

__Peter squinted at Harley. “Are the sparkly panties a _benefit_?” he asked “Really?”_ _

__“Noooooot for boys,” Jan interjected. “Not this season.”_ _

__“You’d probably be better off asking your girlfriend about that, Pete,” Natasha said, in between bites of pizza._ _

__Peter rolled his eyes. “Gwen doesn’t give a shit about clothes.”_ _

__Harley took a slow, thoughtful bite of his pizza. “You interested in sparkly panties for that long, buggy commute?”_ _

__Peter gave Harley a confused look. “I don’t think I’d want to ride my _bike_ in them,” he replied. _ _

__“Plus the green would clash with the tights. I bet Tony could work up something cooler...”_ _

__Peter stared at Harley, then stared at his pizza, then looked at Natasha for help._ _

__Natasha glanced at the ceiling and stuffed pizza in her mouth._ _

__“What?” Peter asked. “You’re just going to leave me hanging?”_ _

__“You need to work on subtlety, kid,” said Jan._ _

__“Haha,” Harley laughed, cheese spilling from the corner of his mouth. “Hanging. C’mon, Itsy Bitsy, don’t take it so hard.”_ _

__“You’ve been spending too much time with Tony,” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes._ _

__“Is that even possible?” Harley asked._ _

__“Yes!” answered the room._ _

__“Woof!” agreed Moose._ _

____

*****

The exterior of the boathouse was swamped with strings of fat, round party lights big enough to catch the reflection of the pond and shimmer from both above and below. Tony slid out the double doors, allowing them to swing shut and muffle the delicate notes of the string quartet playing on inside.

Wrapping his hands around his champagne flute, Tony heaved a sigh, sucking on his lower lip as he frowned thoughtfully across the water.

A hand slid over his shoulder. Steve stepped up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. “Nice view,” he mused, holding his own champagne out to clink it against Tony’s. 

“Right?” Tony agreed. “Jesus, with all the music and champagne I feel like I’m getting married.”

Steve snorted. “To _whom_?” he asked. “No one warned me.” 

Tony raised his glass momentarily, then took a sip and sighed, leaning back into Steve’s warmth. “What if they’ve burned the house down?”

“Peter’s with-- no, that doesn’t _actually_ alleviate my concerns about the house.” Steve said, though he gave Tony an amused look. He wrapped one arm around Tony, then pressed his lips in a row of kisses from Tony’s jaw to his temple. “Natasha’s with them. Jan’s with them. Moose is with them. Moose is an excellent firedog.” 

“He’s spending too much time with DUM-E,” Tony sighed, running a thumb across the lip of his glass.

“Excellent; soon he’ll be able to make your coffee,” Steve teased. “Are you really worried? You want to call the house?” 

Tony squinted at him as though he expected the question to be a trick one. “Kind of?” he admitted warily. “Peter hasn’t exactly proven himself to be the paradigm of a trustworthy teen… if there is such a thing.”

“He has two other adults in the house and Bruce out in the cottage,” Steve pointed out, running a hand through Tony’s hair. “But I will officially stop trying to convince you to go back to the Soho place after this party’s over,” he assured him. 

Shifting himself, Tony turned until the small of his back was wedged against the railing and his front was pressed toe-to-chest against Steve, leaving his champagne flute balanced on the railing. He leaned in, inhaling deeply and kissing the edge of Steve’s left eyebrow. “This is why I have always been so firmly entrenched in the never-raising-a-child camp,” he admitted. “You’ve always been better at this stuff than I am.”

Steve fondled Tony’s collar, slid his thumb beneath it, stroking Tony’s neck. “You’ve raised, what, how many artificial intelligences? I’ve raised half a dog. I don’t know, Tony; they’re _cute_. It could be fun. I mean, little tiny Iron Man sheets?” He shot Tony a smirk, and then kissed Tony on the nose. 

Tony’s face scrunched up with momentary annoyance before he leaned in and shamelessly licked the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Half a dog,” he snorted, sliding his hands into Steve’s pockets to lovingly cup his ass.

“Well,” Steve said, raking his teeth over his lower lip. “He’s a big dog. I bet half of Moose counts as at least three yappy dogs.” He stepped closer, pressed his chest hard up against Tony, bent over and nipped at Tony’s ear. “We don’t have to go back inside,” he murmured. 

“Or to the Soho place?” Tony asked, smirking against his mouth and moving one hand to Steve’s front pocket.

“Oh, _god_ , Tony,” Steve groaned, fumbling to put his own champagne glass down as he bit down on his lip, eyelashes fluttering. “There are _windows_ everywhere, people--” in his effort, he knocked both flutes into the lake with a splash. 

“Fuck,” Steve murmured, and tugged Tony forward, kissing him deeply. 

Tony ran his free hand along the back of Steve’s neck, stubby nails finding purchase as they trailed up his scalp. “ You make everything so much better, Steve. Everything from …. well, from giant beetles to equally terrifying tiny children. I’ve been thinking… I don’t know how I ever survived these nights without you, and--”

“Well, come on now, bubblegum,” said a third voice, as the flash from a phone camera went off. “We all know _that’s_ a matter of public record.” 

“Oh, for _fuck’s sake_ ,” Steve snarled, as he spun on his heel, putting himself physically between Tony and the newcomer. 

Tony allowed himself to sigh tiredly, his forehead falling forward to thump against Steve’s spine. “A good old fashioned restraining order doesn't get you much these days,” he lamented.

“T,” Ty said, shaking his head in amusement. “I’m sorry to cockblock you like this, but it would be so much easier not to if you weren’t always desperately trying to get fucked.” 

Steve took a step forward. “Should I throw him in the lake?” 

Steeling himself, Tony slid out from behind Steve and set a hand on his arm. “Just his phone would do the trick.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’ll delete the photo; what do I look like, paparazzi?” Ty asked, waggling the phone in his hand. He tipped his head, trying to get a good look at Tony by peering around Steve. “I’ve got a business question, T. I just wanted to get your attention.” 

Tony tipped his head to the side, faux-considering. “Let me see-- No.”

Ty let out a resigned sigh and turned toward the door. “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to decide what to do with this footage on my own. Ah, well.” 

“Lake,” Tony decided, mildly.

Steve punched at his own palm, then stepped forward.

“You really want Captain America to go up on assault charges?” Ty asked, looking innocent as he turned back around. “Tony, I’m concerned about your well-being; you do know they’re saying your old _secretary_ was seen out buying clothes for children today, don’t you?” 

“One, not my current secretary, two, still violates your restraining order, three, you _tripped_ ,” Tony said sweetly, sidestepping Steve and plucking the phone from Ty’s outstretched fingers before letting it slide from his grasp and bounce across the wooden deck with a thunk-thunk-splash. “Oops.”

Ty shrugged. “I didn’t mean the footage of you dry-humping; I meant the footage of your alleged kids,” he said. He stared, long and hard at Tony, tipping his head from one side to the other. “Mmm. I remember the last time I saw you in that tie.” 

“Was that our afternoon in court?” Tony asked, raising a brow. “Please tell me you aren’t pursuing that drivel. You know perfectly well there are no children in this picture.”

“I assume as much,” Ty replied, pulling another phone out of his back pocket. He tapped on a button. “But we _did_ have that, what was it, do seven people constitute an orgy? Back in oh-two? You never know; it’s hard to keep track of that many people, and…” He shrugged. “These pictures of children _entering_ Stark Tower, and leaving with you, and _re-entering_ the Tower, and leaving again with, what is she calling herself these days? Now that she’s not pretending to be your woman of the week?” 

Ty showed the photos to Tony, in quick succession. “They’re going to convince _someone_ So I wanted to know how you wanted me to handle it.” 

“The kid’s a fan,” Tony flicked his fingers dismissively. “And what people think is irrelevant -- children enter and leave Stark tower all the time.”

“Not with you,” Ty said pointedly. “Never with you. Why are they staying at your house?” 

Steve looked back at Tony and then to Ty. “How the fuck do you know this?” 

Ty grinned. “Ah. Confirmation.” 

Tony folded his arms over his chest. “You -- you’re disgusting. The court order included the removal of any and all surveillance devices from my property.”

“They’re _removed_ ,” Ty said, rolling his eyes. “There’s nothing illegal about happening to see a car on the road, is there?” 

“There is when you’re not allowed within a thousand feet of my permanent residence,” Tony muttered. “The kid is a fan from a troubled living situation who figured I was superhero enough to help him out. We’re keeping him supervised until he can be collected.”

“You do know adult men who invite young fans into their homes tend to get a...reputation?” Ty asked. He shook his head. “Tony, you tell me something like that, and frankly…” He looked pointedly at Steve. “I’m a little concerned.” 

“I know the family,” Tony shrugged. “And, just in case you failed to notice, they are not in any way unsupervised.”

Ty shook his head. “It does bear mentioning, sugarbear. I’m talking good PR right now; you’ve got kids at your house, you’re going to want to get out ahead of the story. Otherwise, you don’t know what people will say.” 

Tony pinched his lips and glanced over at Steve. 

Steve took a breath, then looked from Ty to Tony. “They’re not our kids,” he pointed out. “We can’t put them in the news. Not our decision to make.” 

The ‘we’ made Tony edge closer, hooking a finger on Steve’s pocket in a much more innocent way. He exhaled quietly as though grounded by the touch, refocusing his concentration. “Two kids are staying with us, they’re relatives of a staffer,” he said carefully. “In town after an unexpected death in the family. They’re staying in the guest wing while their folks are handling the funeral. Unrelated to any parentage claims that might have been made this week -- they’re way too blonde to be mine, anyway.”

Ty gave Tony a long look, then glanced up at Steve, smirking. “Well,” he said. “I’m sure we’d hear about it if Captain America had another paternity suit,” he said, cheerfully. He shook his head, chuckling. “I do hope you don’t let _all_ that exceptional genetic material go to waste, Captain.” 

“Fuck off,” Steve muttered, and he linked arms with Tony. 

“Oh,” Tony shrugged. “It’s all put to _very_ good use, sir.”

Steve jabbed Tony with his elbow as gently as he could, as he flushed bright red. 

“Ah, still love that blush,” Ty observed cheerfully. “Well, in that case, if you two ever decide you want a third, you know where to find me.” 

He tapped his phone. “Look at the _time_. Well, gents, it’s been lovely as usual. Steve, if you want an exclusive when Tony inevitably gets bored and dumps you, give me a call.” 

Tony flushed, stepping forward with his hands clenched at his side. “ _You_ \--”

“It _is_ getting late,” Steve agreed, loudly, projecting his voice very deliberately in Ty’s direction. “Come on, Tony; should we head to the bandshell or the gazebo?” 

“Gazebo,” Tony said firmly, tucking Steve’s arm into his and giving it a proprietary pat. “Lead the way, Captain Rogers.”

Steve slid his free hand into the waistband of Tony’s dress pants as they walked. “We are _never_ making it to the gazebo,” he whispered.

*****

Standing firm in his Captain America boxers and Avengers tee, Tony Stark threw one hand out and struck a pose, spatula at the ready. “And now,” he intoned, voice low and serious, “our daring hero will attempt the same maneuver…. _one handed!_ ”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, aaaaaaah,” Brooklyn intoned (as instructed). At Tony’s feet Moose shuffled eagerly, lifting first one paw and then the other.

Tony made a show of bending his knees, stretching his biceps, and then carefully worked his spatula between tender eggy bread and skillet. Free hand behind his back he shuffled the bread onto the spatula and flung the bread skyward.

“To--” Steve stopped in the doorway, abruptly, then grinned mischievously and let out a low whistle. 

Tony straightened as though electrified, canting one hip and glancing over his shoulder with his best come-hither eyebrow raise.

The toast soared end-over-end, bouncing off the overhead cabinet and hurtling to earth, only to be snapped from mid-air by Moose’s waiting jaws.

Steve beamed, and applauded. 

Brooklyn clapped, too. “The dog is better at this than you!” she told Tony. 

“The dog knows he has to be if he wants any,” Steve said. He bend down and ruffled Moose’s head, then kissed Tony on the cheek. “I missed you getting out of bed. That _never_ happens.” 

“This is a conspiracy!” Tony grumbled, swatting Steve away. “And you,” he pointed the spatula at Moose, judgmentally. “ _You_ let it happen.”  
Moose sat on his haunches, looking up greedily as if he expected more toast, and wagged his tail. 

“I was up first,” Brooklyn said, swinging her feet from the stool at the breakfast bar. “I beat all of you. I got to pay Super Dog Cops Racing all by myself and no one interrupted.” 

Steve frowned. “Does your mother let you play that?” he asked. 

“Harley always says what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Brooklyn said cheerily, mouth full of french toast.

“Oh, well, I say that about Tony, so it must be true,” Steve said cheerfully, and he took the stool beside her. “Is there any french toast for me?” 

“I was working on yours when Moose intercepted,” Tony informed him, innocently.

“Can you make me another?” Steve asked, batting his eyelashes. “Can I get mine with whipped cream like Brooklyn’s?” 

“Well I usually charge for that kind of extra service,” Tony said, edging closer.

“Bleeeeeech,” Brooklyn groaned, compote smeared across one cheek. “Are you guys gonna _kiss?_ You look like you want to kiss.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” Steve said to Brooklyn, looking worried. “What was the charge for your whipped cream?” 

“I wrote an Iron Man cheer,” Brooklyn said, primly.

Tony raised his eyebrows hopefully at Steve. “Tell you what,” he said, archly. “I’ll give you one on credit. You can pay me back later.”

“Definitely gonna be kissing,” Brooklyn said with disgust, pushing away her plate of nearly-finished french toast. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” said Steve. “Are we not going to get to hear this cheer?” 

“It’ll cost you another slice,” Brooklyn tried, just as Peter came tromping in, rubbing at his eyes.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, pulling up a stool at the marble-topped bar that bisected the kitchen and breakfast nook.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Rough night?” he asked. “Did these two run you ragged?”  
”I never should have given them ice cream,” Peter groaned, letting his head fall to the counter.

“Oh, sure, blame the ice cream,” Brooklyn snickered.

“Are we having ice cream?” Harley asked, appearing in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes, his hair all askew. He was wearing one of Tony’s Iron Man tee shirts and a pair of Hawkeye pajama pants. 

“No,” Brooklyn said, sullenly. “Only whipped cream.”

Peter looked up hopefully. “Whipped cream works,” he decided. “Coffee?”

Tony squinted at Peter for a moment before nodding in grudging agreement. “Coffee.” He, reached for the pot and pouring out a cup for both Peter and Steve. Peter got two sugars while Steve’s received twice that number.

He then turned again to the mixing bowl filled with eggs and milk, stirring them twice before setting about making another very practiced batch of french toast. 

“What are we doing today?” Harley asked, through mouthfuls of french toast. “It’s the weekend, isn’t it? It’s, like, Saturday, right? What do you do on the weekend? Do we get to go battle killer robots orrrrr?” 

“I hope not,” Tony groaned. “My ribs are still all bruised up after the beatles yesterday.”

“We could go to the zoo,” Steve offered. “Or the arboretum, or, um…” He looked a little helplessly at Tony. “The science museum?” 

“I’ve got to get home,” Peter said. “I promised Aunt May I’d help her install a new doorbell. And I haven’t seen Gwen since Tuesday.” 

“I haven’t been to the zoo since we, uh, spent those two and a half weeks rounding up the last of the spider monkeys two years back,” Tony admitted.

Steve sighed. Loudly. “Well, we’re informally not-really-welcome at the Met...We haven’t pissed off the Natural History museum yet, have we?” 

“Natural history,” Harley groaned at the same moment Brooklyn piped up hopefully.

“Are there dinosaurs?!”

“Yeah, and plenty of them. I’m still kind of shocked nobody’s brought them to life and stampeded through the city on them,” Peter offered.

“Never take up a life of crime,” Tony grinned, dropping the spatula and still-steaming pan into the sink. “Harls, you got a minute?”

“No, I’m extremely busy,” Harley answered, rolling his eyes as he licked the last of the whipped cream off his plate. “You’ll have to see my secretary, maybe I can pencil you in for four o’clock.” 

“Har dee har har,” Tony said with an eye roll. “Walk with me, my child. J, run the dishwashing cycle?”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis agreed, mildly.

Tony ruffled Harley’s hair and headed through the living room’s french doors and out into the gardens.

“So, what is this?” Harley asked. He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at the gardens like he was trying really hard to play it cool, to not be impressed. 

“Kiddo, we gotta talk about your next move,” Tony said, quietly. He started walking for the sake of giving them something to do, leading the way down the gravel paths towards the lily ponds.

“Well, nobody’s gonna believe The Rock is my dad so I’m running out of options,” said Harley.

Tony took a deep breath, studying Harley thoughtfully. “Kid, I can be a lot of things for you -- I’ll be friend, mentor, maybe even boss, someday. But I can’t be a dad.”

Harley kept his eyes on the gardens. “Well, at least you’ve got the balls to say it; I guess that’s something? I never said I needed a dad.” 

“Then why’d --” Tony started, then paused to consider his words. “Telling my staff I was your father makes your being here a lot more difficult to explain.”

“I thought it made it easier,” Harley answered. He squinted at Tony. “You don’t get it, do you? I mean, your dad was a jerk, too, wasn’t he? Would you really want another?” 

Tony snorted. “You don’t need to deconstruct shitty parental relations for me, kid. If you’d called me I would have plucked you outta there in a hot minute. Now,” he raised a hand, forestalling any interruptions, “I get why that didn’t happen -- this isn’t like a judgement thing, or anything. I’m just saying, the paternity claim and then you staying here will amount to a tacit admission of guilt. I’m gonna come out of this looking like Arnold or MJ and neither is a good look on me.”

Harley sighed, and flexed his fingers on the railing of the terrace. “I don’t know who you mean,” he admitted. “So you want me to tell people I was lying?” he asked. “It’s like, the worst thing that could possibly happen is people don’t believe it. So what? It’s not like you were married or anything; I checked.” 

“You don’t think abandoning you in Tennessee with a meth-head mother would read poorly in the press?” 

“My mom’s not a meth head, jeez,” Harley answered. “Just because she _makes_ it. She’s not stupid.” He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t know. You only found out about me, like, two years ago. That happens lots, right?” 

Tony groaned. “Of -- of course it does. But not to _me_. Look -- I’m just gonna lay this out, stop me if it’s not clear. I’ve basically got more money than God, and there are a lot of people out there who want a piece of the pie. I’ve also known a few ladies in my time, and the number of paternity claims my lawyers have knocked down hit three digits _years_ ago.” He made a face. “Thing is, I’m -- _physically incapable_ of having children. And that’s been my legal defense against said claims for the better part of two decades. Magically hitting the bullseye in your case would open up a stupid amount of legal bullshit. Not something I can do.”

“So, like, we could be your wards,” Harley offered. “Batman has a ward; he’s a really rich guy with no wife or kids, people will just think, oh, yes, superheroes have to have wards, that’s all right. You could tell people you rescued us from the circus.” 

“Can even you do a cartwheel?” Tony asked, squinting.

“They were training me to be the human cannonball,” Harley answered. “Child abuse, plain and simple.” 

Tony couldn’t help a faint smile. “Kid, as much as I would love to be the Bruce Wayne to your Dick Grayson, you’ve still got family. Your mom’s got the sister, your grandparents are around. I talked to my legal department this morning while your sister was glued to Dog Cops -- literally _every single member_ of your family has applied for custody.”

Harley gave Tony an impatient look. “Do you really think I would have put my sister on a bus if I wanted to live with them?” he asked. 

“No,” Tony said, quietly. “But they’re the people with the actual legal claim to keep you.”

“Which was why I lied in the first place,” Harley pointed out.

“I know,” Tony said, raising his hands. “I understand that. But as much as it fucking pains me to do so, I’m trying to give you a zero-bullshit explanation of why I can’t make it work.”

“Fine,” Harley said sullenly, releasing the railing with a shrug. “Whatever.” He threw his hands up and started back toward the house. 

Tony pressed his fingertips to his temples. “Come on, kid. You’re smarter than this -- you’ve gotta realize that no amount of cash is going to convince a court to hand custody away from your family.”

“Who _cares_?” Harley snapped, his face turning red as he whirled around on his heel. “Why do you always bring up money; this isn’t about your stupid money! Everybody else just runs around doing whatever they want and nobody ever asks me what I want!” 

Tony gritted his teeth. “So? Lay it on me. Here’s your moment.”

“You already said _no_ ,” Harley pointed out, his lower lip quivering. 

“I said I _can’t_ ,” Tony repeated with a sigh.

“That’s still no,” Harley pointed out.

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, still no. At least, until your family is willing to relinquish guardianship. I was thinking more -- head back, figure out what your mom is actually looking at, try the whole living-with-the-crazy-aunt thing. Document any shit that goes wrong. Talk to your mom.”

Harley chewed on his lip, giving Tony the sort of glare that warned that no one had better suggest that he might be on the verge of crying. “There’s no garage,” he said. “I mean, there is, but it’s full of old junk. I’m not allowed in there. I still have to take care of Brooklyn, so I can’t _do_ anything after school. No clubs, no _anything_. And school sucks. You’re worried about people thinking you might have lied about having a kid, try being the kid whose mom blew up their house the first week back to school.” 

Tony settled down on a stone planter, raising his brows. “Sounds like we need an action plan. To me, Brooklyn is the redzone issue here -- not that you aren’t great, but she needs an actual adult to watch her before you both go nuts. I’m thinking au pair, you get bonus language lessons.”

Harley looked skeptical. “This might sound weird to you since I just pretty much asked you to kidnap us, but I don’t think my family’s going to like some strange guy paying for rich people things like that,” he said. 

“We’ll _ask_ first,” Tony said, looking momentarily affronted. “I mean -- we don’t have to ask. It can be anonymous.”

"Anonymous _nannies_?" Harley asked. "Is Mary Poppins gonna swoop in on her umbrella?"

“Nothing is impossible when funded by a recently-formed local activist group determined to provide affordable childcare to at-risk youth,” Tony smirked.

“I’m not at risk for anything but mild irritation with obnoxious billionaire superheroes,” Harley answered, all innocence. 

“Cute,” Tony rolled his eyes. “Is it worth a try or not? An independent group reads about you in the paper, reaches out to Auntie Thousandcats, etc etc.”

“What I don’t think you get,” Harley said, hesitantly. “Is that there’s no space in the house for another person. And we don’t live in a place where people _have_ nannies. I don’t want people to talk about us more that they’re already gonna; I don’t want people to make fun of Brooklyn. Can’t you, like, pay for her to take gymnastics twice a week or something? Or donate money to start an after-school club at the library? Hiring one teacher for the afternoons probably costs the same as a nanny for one family and a lot more people could do it.” 

Tony sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “That’d certainly be doable,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I’m thinking the school gymnasium over the library, though, or a central facility accessible by after school shuttle. More room to run around and be noisy little bra--children,” he amended, lamely.

Harley raised an eyebrow. “Anonymous donation? Not-for-profit organization? The American Society of Billionaires Who Freeload in Kids’ Garages?” 

“Yet another terrible acronym,” Tony said with a sigh. “Maybe… something like, about how STEM is for Everybody, not just for a few.”

“Stemiffy...enjfaf?” Harley puzzled out, screwing his face up. “That’s a _good_ acronym?” 

“Uh,” Tony said, grimacing. “STEMkids? Afterschool programs for STEM topics, with tutors to help with homework and like, run-around-and-play-time?”

Harley wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but Brooklyn wouldn’t want to do that. She doesn’t like science, she likes sports and pretending she’s a fairy princess. Not all kids are me.” 

“They should be,” Tony grumbled. “She can be fairy princess engineer? Elsa built shit using fractal forms, right?”

Harley rolled his eyes. “Elsa built shit with _magic powers_.” 

Tony flicked his fingers dismissively. “Magic is just unlabeled science. But listen, let the marketing people name this shit. If this would actually improve your situation, I will have people on it in a hot minute.”

Harley looked up at Tony with a hopeful expression, biting his lip. “Yeah, if you could find something for Brooklyn to do after school, it means I could do _my_ clubs after school,” he said. “That would be pretty good.” 

“That’s a good place to start, then.” Tony shoved his hands in his back pockets, studying Harley’s face. “Let’s try this for a few weeks and see if it helps. If you’re still unhappy, maybe your Aunt or your mother, if she’s able, would be willing to talk custody arrangements.”

Harley was quiet for a moment. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Tony said, shrugging. “You’re welcome here, Harley. Once you’re eighteen I’ve got a massive fucking lab and an R&D position with your name on it... but until then I have to work within the boundaries state law gives me. In this case there isn’t much in the way of leeway.”

“Can I come for Thanksgiving?” Harley asked, fidgeting with his fingers. “I get days off school then. I bet you guys get like, a huge turkey.” 

“Actually, we get a giant squid. But Bruce makes a mean tofurkey, too.” Tony managed to keep a straight face until Harley shot him a horrified look, then burst out into laughter. “You’re welcome for Christmas as well, or New years if that’s easier. We’ve got some tough-to-top New Year traditions around here.”

Harley’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, I remember that time your building blew up and the Hulk attacked,” he said. “That was on the news at home.” 

“So we’ll pencil you in then,” Tony snorted. “You can bring Brooklyn, or come alone if you… you know. Need a break from Big Brothering.”

“Are you sure?” Harley asked. “I’m not going to get in the way of you guys having, like, grown-up parties and stuff?” 

“Kiddo, I’ve been attending grown-up parties since I was six. No one’s gonna bat an eye at another prodigy running around the mansion.” With that, he reached out a hand to shake. 

Harley blinked, and then shook. “Steve’s going to be okay with this?” he asked. 

Tony laughed. “Honestly? I expect he’ll be thrilled.”

Harley grinned. “You know, you’re a lot more... I know last time everybody thought you were dead and everything, and people were chasing you, but you’re a lot more... _together_ around him.” 

“Aw, kid,” Tony let his eyes trail along the window frame to where they could see Steve and Peter sitting inside, chatting. “You say the sweetest things.”

Harley stuck his tongue out. “It’s like he makes you almost act your age,” he retorted.

*****

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “It isn’t how I would handle it, but I agree in principle.”

“Isn’t that what the Avengers are all about, though?” Peter huffed. “It just -- Tony is the king of going off half-cocked. He sailed a freaking nuke into a wormhole and he’s getting onto me about reckless endangerment over some measly bug eggs?”

“No,” Steve answered. “ _I’m_ the king of going off half-cocked. You just don’t recognize it for what it is yet because I’m also the one giving orders. No one ordered Tony back when he did that, Peter. We had another, less-risky solution here that would have taken about a minute and a half more.” 

He scrubbed his chin with the back of his hand and looked out the window, his eyes locking on Tony talking to Harley. “Tony’s used to people he cares about taking dumb risks, and he reacts badly. So consider it his way of saying ‘welcome to the family.’” 

“I know you think I’m kidding when we all call you mom, but jeez, Steve. I’m not a kid in need of parenting. If Tony’s not gonna let me participate the way I should be participating, I’m plenty happy to go solo again. I was good, solo!”

“You were also on the cover of half a dozen newspapers every week for damaging property,” Steve pointed out dryly. “Not that we haven’t had our fair share of, well, similar mishaps, but we’ve got a system; we’ve got the Initiative behind us, we have liability insurance...Someday, someone’s going to put you in jail, out your identity, sue you for more money than you have. Your aunt would lose her house, if the right people wanted to make things hard for you.” 

Steve shook his head. “The problem was you _weren’t_ participating the way you should be. Part of being a team is being a moving part in something bigger. You can’t just decide to play a waltz when the rest of the orchestra’s playing a foxtrot.” 

Peter spread his hands, using the force of his gesticulation would underscore his words. “There were only two bugs still kicking and yet Tony mobilized two additional suits instead of trusting me or Sam to take care of it. He doesn’t trust us the way he does the first gen team -- it’s freaking _frustrating_!”

“That’s bullshit, Peter,” Steve answered. “He wouldn’t have wanted me or Jan up there, either. We don’t have suits. The armor can’t have the flesh burned off it.” He raised an eyebrow. “You want to go ask Sam if he feels the same?” 

“No, obviously, because he’s obligated to agree with you,” Peter grumbled. “It’d be one thing if it were just on the team, but it’s work, too. He’s so sure he knows what’s best for everyone.”

Steve cleared his throat and took his phone out, tapping at the screen. 

“Yeah?” Sam said, from the phone, a moment later. 

“Sam, you’re on speaker,” Steve said cheerfully. He cleared his throat and gave Peter an amused look.

“What’s up?” Sam asked. 

“NOTHING,” Peter yelped, making a swipe for the phone with spidey-fast reflexes. “Butt dial! Wrong number! Bye!”

“Sounds like something’s up,” said Sam, as Steve didn’t even attempt to keep Peter from taking the phone. 

“Didn’t you _just say_ you’re not in need of parenting?” Steve asked incredulously. 

“I also said I knew Sam would agree with you.” Peter popped the phone up to his ear for emphasis. “Sam, yes or no, Tony is super controlling in the field.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Steve.

“I only agree with Steve when he’s right,” said Sam. “Obviously you’ve never heard us talk baseball.” 

”I avoid it if I can help it,” Peter admitted.

“Excuse me?” Steve asked. “Do you want to talk sports _right now?_ Matz gave away one run on seven hits and a walk over six innings last night.” 

“We’re having a lousy season, is all,” Sam retorted. 

“The Yankees are the _perfect example_ of capitalism draining all the joy out of a competitive sport,” Steve said irritably. “And the Mets are _still kicking their ass_.” 

“Yeah, well, let’s see how they do this afternoon. If you hate them so much, tell Tony to buy them,” Sam said cheerfully. “I can’t imagine why you avoid it, Pete. Let me guess, is this about you being a numbskull yesterday?” 

“No,” Peter growled, expression going sullen.

Steve looked up at the ceiling and pretended to whistle.

“Look, if I’d wanted another round of lecturing I would have taken it up with Tony,” Peter grumbled, shoving the phone at back Steve. “I’m gonna head out, I’m supposed to meet Gwen for lunch.”

“That was _not_ a lecture,” Steve said, holding the phone up to his ear. “Bye, Sam. Sorry.” 

He looked at Peter. “That was the opposite of a lecture; that was me doing my damnedest _not_ to lecture. Pete, come on,” he said. “All we’re asking is for you to think like you’re part of a team. If we’ve got to-- I don’t know, rearrange positions for that to work for you, we can talk about it.” 

He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “And maybe you should talk to Tony.” 

“That’ll go well,” Peter muttered, looking dismal. He pulled his discarded hoodie off the armrest of the couch and shrugged himself into it. “I don’t mind being part of a team, but my input oughta count for something. It’s cool, Steve. I get with the whole dating-the-teamleader thing you’ve got going on you can’t really… you know.”

Steve, who had been frowning, and mulling, and looking very much like he knew what he was going to say next and was only waiting his turn to speak, suddenly looked up, with a start. “You think that’s what this is?” he asked. “Okay. You have your girlfriend. Gwen. Say she does something at a party that pisses you off. Do you say so right there in front of everyone, or do you wait until you’ve left the party?” 

“Well -- well yeah, i wouldn’t want to embarrass her at a party or anything. Not that I get invited to a lot of parties. I didn’t even get invited to the SI Fourth of July picnic because it was open bar and I’m only eighteen.”

“That’s okay; I wasn’t invited either, because Pepper said it was the only way to guarantee that Tony wouldn’t mortify the board,” Steve said dryly. 

Peter snorted. “You just told me you agreed with his decision, so there can’t have been much post-party shouting this time around.”

“I didn’t agree with his _decision_ ,” Steve said. “I thought his decision was a massive overreaction. I thought that much was clear. He was right that you shouldn’t have ignored my orders. That’s not safe. Unilaterally grounding you? Terrible call.” 

Peter blinked. “Really?”

“Didn’t I--” Steve rubbed at his forehead. “I told you it’s not the way I would have handled it.” 

“Yeah, but that’s not exactly a ‘gee-it-sucks-that-Tony-grounded-you’,” Peter said, smiling lopsidedly. “Any chance you’d put in a good word and get me off the bench?”

Steve gave a slight shake of his head. “As much as I might be furious with Tony, Captain America doesn’t interfere with Iron Man’s decisions. That’s how it works. It’s how it has to work-- our relationship as Avengers always has to be more important than what happens at home.”

Steve glanced at the wall for a moment, running a hand through his hair. “That doesn’t mean Captain America’s not going to raise the issue of conditions required for a senior member to bench a junior member without the team’s input.” 

“See, it’s all about the principle of the thing with you guys,” Peter said, smacking his open palm with a fist. He looked up at Steve sheepishly. “Thanks for listening to me vent, Steve.”

“Those are the compromises you make when you agree to work together,” Steve said with a shrug. “It might not always look like it, but they’re worth it.” He raised an eyebrow at Peter. “For one, you get people to vent at. It’s all part of the job,” he assured him. “Anytime. Now, go meet your girlfriend before you piss _her_ off.” 

“Whatever, she loves me,” Peter shouted over his shoulder, snagging his backpack and jogging towards the front door.

*****

Tony stepped out of his Model S, swinging the back door open for Brooklyn and her brand new Frozen backpack and matching boots. “Are you ready for this?” he asked her, brandishing his finger guns in her general direction.

“I was born ready,” Brooklyn announced cheerily as Harley threw open the front trunk.

“What’s _in_ these?” Bruce asked, as he heaved one of the suitcases out. “Tony, are you using children to smuggle bodies?” 

“Singular. We just chopped it into little pieces,” Harley said, giving his suitcase a kick.

“Don’t make me call the Dog Cops on you!” Brooklyn said accusingly, then began to sing. “Dog Cops, fighting strong, Dog Cops, their arm is loooong, Dog Cops! Fighting for law with tooth and claw they’re DOG COPS!”

Bruce pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “She and Clint would get along smashingly,” he sighed. 

“Clint’s the only person I’ve ever seen ask a _toddler_ if they could watch a show again,” Natasha agreed, giving Bruce an amused look as she hefted their own, much smaller duffel bag, onto her shoulder. “I can’t wait to see him with kids of his own.” 

“BYE TONY!” Brooklyn shouted, throwing her arms around Tony’s waist and squeezing him tight enough to wrinkle his suit. “Thanks for the pizza and the dog cops and the new Elsa backpack and the clothes and stuff,” she recited obediently. When she turned to Steve her face pinked slightly. “And, um, bye, Captain America.”

“Bye, kiddo,” Steve said, with an easy, slightly relieved grin. He hesitated for a moment, and then dropped down to one knee to give her a hug. Her grin went blinding as he released her, and she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before trailing after Bruce and Natasha.

Harley was looking nervously between the airport and the car. “Tony?” he asked. 

“What’s up, compadre?” Tony asked, eyebrows arching over the dark frames of his sunglasses.

Harley bit his lip, looked back over his shoulder. “Uh. Thanks and stuff?” 

Tony’s brows crept higher before he threw an arm out and wrangled Harley in for a hug. “Awwwwwww, c’mere.” Once he’d given him a squeeze complete with manly shoulder pats he pushed Harley out to arm’s length and squinted at him. “You’ll keep me posted -- it should take two, maybe three weeks to get everything lined up, people hired, that kind of thing. The gymnastics start Tuesday, make good grades, don’t do drugs or grow any taller, you’re not allowed to grow taller than me.”

Harley squinted at Tony. “I’m not going to be taller than you by Thanksgiving,” he promised, swallowing hard. “You’ll keep your promise, won’t you? If it sucks, I get to come back?” 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it,” Tony reminded him, gently. “Just remember, if that’s what you want we do it right -- we go through your family, not around them. The last thing I need is Auntie Thousandcats suing me for kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping is a criminal case, not a civil one,” Steve interrupted, from where he stood, just behind Tony. “You get charged, not sued.” 

“Well, that’s worse,” said Harley, and he raised his hand to Steve for a fistbump. 

“Knowing Tony, he’d take you across state lines, and then it’s a felony,” Steve said cheerfully. “Come back anytime,” he said. “Just warn us first; I can pull Captain America strings to get you private tours places Tony _can’t_.” 

“You get kicked out of the Statue of Liberty _one time_ ,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Be good, kiddo. Take care of yourself. Text me when you get home so we know you’re there in one piece.”

Harley took a deep breath, puffing up his chest as if he were steeling himself for something. “You got it,” he said, and gave Tony the thumbs-up. 

He took a step backward, not taking his eyes off them, and then another, and then waved hastily and turned to head for the airport doors.

Tony raised a hand to wave back, letting it sink slowly as Harley disappeared inside.

“This sucks,” he said, lifting his sunglasses to scrub at his eyes.

Steve put a hand on his back, then slid his fingers up to scratch at the base of Tony’s neck, as if Tony were a cat. “You want me to drive?” he asked. 

Tony leaned into the touch, appropriately cat-like. “You’re just looking for an excuse to drive my baby,” he said, though he passed Steve the keys without further protest.

“Anything else you need?” Steve asked, jingling the keys as he stepped closer, hovering protectively, and kissed Tony on the temple. 

“Don’t try that with me, mister. I saw you getting fresh with that young lady,” Tony said, swatting at Steve’s shoulder and hauling open his car door. 

“Fine, I’m groveling and begging for you to come back to me,” Steve answered flatly. He gave Tony’s shoulder a squeeze and then headed around to the driver’s side. “For once, you’re actually closer to my age.” 

“Har dee har har,” Tony grumbled, dropping into his seat with a whumpf. “Keep it up, chuckles, we’ll see just how far into my pants that gets you.” He dropped a hand to adjust the seat’s recline function -- Harley had been fiddling with it all the way from Old Westbury. “This _really_ sucks.”

Steve had to adjust the seat on his side to accommodate for the height difference, and he tapped the settings for the rearview mirrors and put on his own sunglasses. “We couldn’t keep them,” he said, shaking his head. “Well. Knowing your legal team, you might have found a way, but it’s the right thing.” 

“Is it, though? Dumping him back in some poverty-stricken podunk town in Tennessee?” Tony sighed, snapping his seatbelt obediently and staring out the window as Steve maneuvered them out of the passenger drop-off zone and into the complicated maze of ramps that made up the roads around Laguardia Airport. “I really thought about it.”

“I know you did,” Steve answered. “He’s a good kid, Tony. He’ll do okay where he is. Look at me; I figure I must’ve grown up in a worse place than he is, and I turned out just fine. And he knows he can come to you for help if he needs it.” 

“Just fine?” Tony smirked. “You sold your body to the US Army, babycakes. That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, even if it worked out alright.”

“I volunteered to serve my country,” Steve answered. He took his eye off the road briefly to raise an eyebrow at Tony, before turning his attention back to the highway. “What, you don’t like a man in uniform?”

“I like a you in uniform,” Tony’s flirtation was automatic, though there was a melancholy ring to it. “I’m not sure if I’m hoping he’ll do well and stay down there or hate it and come running back to New York.”

Steve bit his lip. “I never thought I’d hear Tony Fucking Stark say he wanted a kid.” 

“Not just any kid,” Tony waved a hand. “ _That_ one. And maybe the sister, if they’re a package deal, but I’m not sure I could handle that much competition for your affection.”

Steve snorted. “You know there’s no competition. Except maybe from Moose.” 

Tony drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Hey, don’t we have to swing through Forest Hills on the way home?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What, are you thinking about adopting another child?” he asked. 

“I just … have a question. That needs answering,” Tony said, thoughtfully.

*****

Peter looked slightly stunned as he opened the door to his aunt’s little house and blinked out at the two men standing on his stoop.

“Uh.” 

“Hey Pete,” Tony said, bracing one hand against the doorframe. “You got a minute?”

“Uh,” said Peter, glancing back into the house. 

“Who’s at the door?” called a woman’s voice. 

“Your friendly neighborhood Iron Man?” Tony asked. “Is this a bad time? Maybe we should have texted.”

“ _Iron Man_?” asked another voice-- also a woman, but younger, pitched higher. “Holy shit! I mean, uh. Sorry, Aunt May.” 

A pair of large eyes framed by a fringe of blonde hair peeked up over Peter’s head, looking awestruck.

“Oh my god, and he brought Captain America.” 

Tony glanced at Steve and then wiggled his fingers in a little wave. “Hi there. Can Peter come out to play?”

“Well,” said the older woman’s voice. “Stop gawking. Ask them in, dear.” 

“Right,” said Peter. “Um.” He ran his hands through his hair and opened the door wider. “This is, um. Gwen.” He gestured at the blonde girl standing to his right, and then turned and nodded to the middle-aged woman behind them. “And this is my Aunt May. Uh. Uh. This is, uh. My boss? Tony Stark? And uh.”

“We know who they are,” said Aunt May, beaming, as she stepped forward to shake Tony’s hand. “Did you gentlemen want a cup of coffee?” 

“I’d be lying if I said I weren’t tempted sorely, Mrs Parker,” Tony said, sliding off his sunglasses and flashing the ladies his best billion-dollar smile. “

“Let me help you out,” Steve said cheerily, and he stepped inside, offering Gwen a hand. “We’ve heard so much about you,” he told her. “Peter says you’re majoring in biology?” 

“Biochem, actually,” Gwen answered, following Steve into the kitchen after Aunt May. 

Steve chuckled. “I still don’t know the difference. I leave the science up to Tony.” 

Peter stared at the kitchen door as it swung shut. “He’s _good_ at that, isn’t he?” 

“It’s one of his many strengths,” Tony agreed, sighing as the closed door cut off his view of Steve’s backside. “Sorry, kid. This was a poorly planned visit, not a thinly disguised attempt to blow your cover.”

Peter grinned gawkily, and shrugged. “I almost blow my cover, like, six times a day. Don’t worry about it. You probably just made Gwen’s year.” 

“As long as she doesn’t ask Steve to sign her boobs, he hates that.” Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets, then fished them out and ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright. Let’s…. sit.”

With that, he hunkered down and took a seat on the stoop with back to the door. 

Peter laughed. “Come _inside_ he said, gesturing for Tony to come in. “Don’t you want to see the humble beginnings of your most brilliant young protégé?” 

“Uh,” Tony said as he flicked his eyes around the neighborhood, taking in the chain link fencing, the weeds encroaching at the edges of the driveway. “Sure, provided there’s somewhere we can talk without prying ears overhearing.”

He stood just as awkwardly, dusting off the seat of his Armani suit. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Steve’s going to charm their pants off-- uh. Not literally,” he added, as he flopped on the sofa. “Here,” he said, and turned on the television, finding a news report for background noise. “So. Uh.” 

Tony looked around the room, sucking on the inside of his cheek, then moved over to a bookshelf and pulled down a family photo. His brief glimpse of Aunt May made her easily identifiable, and Peter’s smile hadn’t changed much since he was … probably Harley’s age? Tony was terribly at gauging age beyond the legal/not-legal divide.

The third figure in the photo was a friendly looking older man. The uncle, he supposed. “So,” he said awkwardly, replacing the photo and nudging it with one finger until it was straight and even in its place. “You’ve had some time to think post-beetles, and so have I.”

Peter gave Tony a dubious look. “Did Steve set this up?” he asked. 

“No, he’s just my DD. Look,” Tony folded his sunglasses slipped them into his jacket pocket. “I’ve been thinking about how we’ve handled your addition to the team. There’s not exactly a manual for adding Avengers, and you’re the first of our younger potentials to age into the program, so there’s been a bit of a learning curve for everyone involved.”

“You don’t say,” Peter replied. “Look, Steve and I already had a talk about this. I get it. Don’t countermand instructions. But I’ve actually been doing this for three years already and I’m a pretty good judge of what I can and can’t do. Considering I’m not dead yet. If I say I’ve got something, you have to believe me.” 

Tony settled himself in one of the overstuffed floral armchairs adjacent to the couch. “What do you want, Peter?”

Peter grimaced. “World peace? A million dollars? Is this a trick question?” 

“Thanks, Miss America,” Tony snorted. “No. It’s a question I didn’t ask when we signed you on, because I thought I knew the answer.”

Peter frowned. “Well, could you be more specific?” he asked. “That’s kind of a nebulous question.” 

“Why did you choose to join the Avengers when you’ve made it clear, repeatedly, that you consider yourself a successful solo outfit. You must have wanted something from us or you would have gone on as you were.” 

“Well, yeah,” Peter answered. “Do you know how much it sucks to spend all your time helping people just to see the papers go _after_ you like you’re some kind of criminal? Everybody loves you guys. You’ve got _credibility_.” He frowned, and looked around the room. “And do you know how much it _sucks_ to have nobody you can talk to about this kind of shit? You never had that. You were out from the beginning.” 

“You’ve gotta stop reading the Daily Bugle,” Tony told him, mildly. “That’s it, then? To shore up your credibility and have a shot at water cooler chat?”

“Well, why’d you join?” Peter asked. “You’re _Iron Man_ , nobody questions your cred.” He scowled, then gave Tony a rather helpless look. “You think there’s something wrong with not wanting to be alone all the time?” 

“No, I’m not criticizing.”

“You sound like you are,” Peter interjected. 

Tony frowned. “I don’t mean it in that way. I gave up the solo gig mostly because Steve’s got a great ass. You know, perks. Perky, perky perks.”

Peter groaned. “Give it a break,” he said, and then gave Tony a cheery look. “Unless you’re suggesting we offer Gwen a job.” 

“Hey, my cradle-robbing days are behind me -- mostly. I have zero interest in Gwen, though she seems perfectly lovely.”

Peter stuck his tongue out. “I meant for _me_ ,” he answered. “You and Nat both get to work with your other halves.” 

“Other half? Awfully serious for eighteen,” Tony teased. “Back to the point -- I left the solo act behind because I realized I was more effective as part of a team. And believe me, that was a tough realization for the old Tony Stark ego, but it’s true. I couldn’t choose to do _less_ just for the sake of my ego.”

“And now?” Peter asked. “How’s the old ego holding up? You liked it enough to stick around, yeah?” 

“It’s not about liking it, it’s about -- efficiency. Then again, I enjoy efficiency, so maybe it’s the same thing,” Tony admitted, thoughtfully.

Peter gave Tony a dubious look. “When you talk like that, you kind of make everything sound really boring,” he admitted. He scratched his head. “But you guys...you don’t just call it quits at the end of the day. So there’s got to be more to it than _efficiency_.” 

Tony plucked up one of Aunt May’s snowglobes, giving it a shake until the snowflakes went spinning. “I tried to do everything myself and I very nearly lost everything. That snotty-nosed kid you babysat for two days ago was all that stood between the Big Bads and the end of Iron Man. So yeah -- I need the team. I _adore_ the team. But ultimately it’s about, you know. Doing the most good a guy can do.”

“But are you going to _let_ me?” Peter asked. “If I’m right there and I tell you I can do something faster and _more efficiently_ than your army of suits, are you going to trust my judgment or am I going to sit there doing nothing because you’re afraid I might get hurt?” 

Tony pursed his lips. “Probably a little of column A, a little of column B. No one calls the right play one hundred percent of the time. I’m projecting an improvement of intuition and cohesion 3.86 percent with each engagement, so there’s that.”

“Well, that’s only 25-point-nine engagements till we’re perfect,” Peter pointed out. “If it were you, if you _knew_ you could take care of something, and Steve wasn’t listening, would you just cool your heels?” 

“We assembled forty-seven times last year -- we should be up at least twelve percent by Christmas,” Tony reminded him, helpfully. “You're asking a question with a lot of variables, Petey. If someone’s life were on the line I wouldn’t hesitate to make my own call. If it was something that wasn’t time-sensitive or endangering lives I’d trust his judgement. Steve’s a pretty sharp guy.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but you two are, like, married.” 

“Not quite,” Tony said with a half-smile.

“No, you’re married,” Peter answered. “You walk around the house in your underwear and drink out of the milk carton and finish each other’s sentences and do that thing where you stick up for each other even when you know the other one’s being a dumbass. You’ve just gotta remember that some of us aren’t part of your little bubble. You don’t know what I’m thinking all the time yet; I don’t know what you’re thinking.” 

“3.86 percent per engagement,” Tony repeated himself with a shrug. “The first time Steve and I deployed together we tried to take on Thor and levelled half the Black Forest.” 

“Is that your weird emotionally-awkward way of saying it will get better?” Peter asked. 

”Uh… yes? I didn’t think it was that awkward.”

“Did you think it was gonna work, then?” Peter asked. “The whole team thing, I mean.” 

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m a gambling man,” Tony said, waving his hand dismissively. 

Peter grinned, his eyes lighting up. “ _Are_ you?” he asked. “‘Cause I’d bet--” 

“This ain’t Vegas, kiddo!” Tony grinned, then reached into his back pocket. He fished out a matte black key card and flicked it in Peter’s direction. “Head’s up.”

Peter caught the card in mid-arc with spider-fast reflexes. “What’s this?” he asked, turning it around and peering at it curiously. 

“SI access card,” Tony said smoothly. “That’ll get you elevator access to Candyland...or, as you may know it, the tier I and tier II R&D labs...”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, eyes glowing as he flipped it again, as if he might see something he hadn’t the first time. “You-- is this a Tony Stark over-the-top sorry-I-was-a-douchebag move?” 

“Iiii was thinking of it more as an…. impress-me-and-earn-my-trust kind of move,” Tony admitted, one eyebrow raised.

Peter twirled the card on his fingertip, then pocketed it. “Well,” he said, with a smug sort of look. “I’m not dropping out of school to run your lab. Yet.” 

“I hate to say it, but there’s gonna be some competition for that position,” Tony said, grinning. “You’ve got a few years in the way of head starts, though, so you’ll wanna take advantage of that.”

“If this is some kind of promotion, you should hire Gwen to fill my spot,” Peter added. “She’s a _genius_ , and you pay your interns waaaay better than Oscorp.” 

“I didn’t say I’d pay you,” Tony pointed out. “But you can tell Gwen to come in for an interview. I’m in the office on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday this week.”

Peter grinned. “You already gave me a lecture on how I shouldn’t do work for free,” he pointed out. “Remember?” 

“Hey, you _were_ listening!”

Peter made a face. “My starting rate is eighteen bucks an hour.”

*****

“Are you sure you don’t see any more blue?” Tony asked pitifully, leaning down to search under the couch for any fallen pieces.

Steve licked his ice cream spoon before he put it back in the container, and got down on his hands and knees to check beneath the ottoman. “No blue,” he said. “You’re going to have to change it up, Tony. See? There’s lots of grey?” 

He held out an offering of tiny plastic bricks. 

“If I use grey nobody is going to be able to tell the difference between the hydraulic rams and the heat exchange,” Tony grumped, scooping up the offered blocks and squinting at his lego reactor critically.

“Cheer up,” said Steve. He adjusted the waistband of his boxer shorts before sitting back down, slinging his feet up on the ottoman. “I can’t tell the difference no matter what color they are.” 

“This is why I’m making Harley and Peter fight to the death over SI instead of leaving it to you,” Tony informed him, cheerily.

“Don’t you think that’s a little...outdated?” Steve finished, finally. “We didn’t even have death matches back in _my_ day.” He picked up his ice cream again, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth. 

“Well, your day was boring. Mmm, core injector, core injector… this look like a core injector to you?”

“What the fuck is a core injector?” Steve asked. He ate another spoonful of ice cream. “So what happens to me? Do I get a small fortune to let me live out the rest of my days in the manner to which I have become accustomed, or am I going to be locked out in the cold?” 

“If that’s your endgame I recommend you argue for it in the prenup,” Tony said, absently placing his core injectors. “I’ll let you keep Moose, though. No way I’d trust Petey with a dog.”

He reached for a pile of yellow two-by-ones and started building again absently.

“Moose has a life expectancy of fifteen years, Tony,” Steve pointed out. “You’d better still be alive then.” He dug around in the ice cream carton for an ice-cream-covered gummi bear, then held the spoon out to Tony. “And anyway, you need to be married for a prenup.” 

Tony took the offered spoon & bite thoughtfully, rolling the frozen-tough gummi bear in his mouth. He closed his palm around his latest creation reflexively, glancing up at Steve through his lashes. “Is that… a thing you’d be interested in doing? I mean, in theory.”

“What?” Steve asked, clearing his throat pointedly. “Getting married, or more legal paperwork?” 

“Kind of hard to have the first without the second, but …. More the first, really. You know, in theory. Survey says…?”

Steve coughed. “Well, you know how much I like paperwork,” he replied, shooting Tony a sidelong look. “Is this a, uh, is it a binding survey?” 

Tony dropped the spoon back into Steve’s pint. “Only if you want it to be. That’s, you know. The whole point.”

Steve watched Tony for a long moment, then put the ice cream carton down carefully on top of the Lego reactor. “Well,” he said. “I wasn’t sure, seeing as I always figured you for a, you know, fireworks-over-a-lake-on-a-private-yacht-somewhere kind of guy.” He bit his lip. “But yeah. That’d be okay.” 

“Yeah?” Tony asked, face lighting up. He moved up onto the couch, reaching for Steve’s hand. “We can bust out the yacht if it’d make you feel better, but I -- I can really take or leave the fancy accoutrements so long as I get the guy.”

“The guy?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow. He caught at Tony’s fingers and gave them a squeeze. “ _Any_ guy?” 

“ _The_ guy,” Tony repeated, kissing Steve’s knuckles and unfolding his hand to show Steve a conjoined series of yellow legos that looked suspiciously like a ring. “The only guy for me.”

Steve blinked, and stared at the legos for a moment before he burst out laughing. He bit his lip, and held his hand out to Tony. “This seems extremely serious and official,” he said, unable to stop grinning. 

“Seriously romantic?” Tony said hopefully as he took the offered hand and slid the ring on. It fit, naturally. “Officially binding?”

Steve held his hand up, tilting it from side to side as if he were actually wearing something with a precious stone. “I can’t wait to flash this at the paparazzi,” he said eagerly. He swung a leg over Tony’s lap, and gave him a warm, affectionate kiss, then bumped his nose up against Tony’s. 

“Think we should let Peter leak photos?” Tony asked, grinning from ear to ear and kissing the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“I think we should let Peter leak them to Tiberius Stone,” Steve answered, with a smirk. 

“I love you,” sighed Tony.

“I love you,” Steve answered. “But if this is how you propose, I’m doing all the wedding planning.” 

He frowned. “Or maybe we should elope.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. If you'd like to share this fic, there is a [tumblr post here](http://1796meta.tumblr.com/post/129396823907/potato-gun-mark-vi-an-earth-1796-fanfiction-today).


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